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LITTLE ROSSIE. 



J&ITTLE JiOSSIE. 



" Mine's a short and simple story, 
O thou tender Lord of glory ! 
Take me gently in thy bosom when I'm 
Weary of the way, 
Only let me see thee clearer, 
Only whisper, /Child, come nearer,' 
So my living shall be blessed as my 

Welcome dying day." 

WRITTEN FOR THE MASS. SABBATH SCHOOL SOCIETY, AND APPROVED 
BY THE COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION. 




BOSTON: 

Mass. Sabbath School Society, 

No. 13 Corn hill. 





JB7T /v/5T 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by the 

Massachusetts Sabbath School Society, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massa- 
chusetts. 



^o Botjs 



WHO WANT TO DO RIGHT, BUT FIND IT IS NOT EASY, 
THIS 

STRICTLY TRUE 

ACCOUNT OF A BOY WHO SUFFERED MUCH, BUT LEARNED BY 

SUFFERING, 

IS 

Affectio7iately dedicated by their friends, 
THE AUTHORS. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

/. Our Little Boy 7 

II. Our Little Boy's Loss and Gain . . 15 

III. New Friends . .... 24 

IV. Our Little Patriot . . . . .38 
V. TJie Surrender ..... $6 

VI. Esau 81 

VII. Our Little Man . . • . . 94 

VIII. Farther On 114 

IX. Nearing tlie Beautiful City • . .125 

X. The Beautiful City 142 

XI. Reunion 149 




LITTLE ROSSIE, 



OUR LITTLE BOT. 

"Thou enviable being, 
No storms, no clouds in thy blue sky foreseeing." 




UR little boy was a rogue; I do 
not mean that he meant to be 



troublesome to anybody, for he loved all 
his friends very much, and would have 
been very sorry if they had not loved 
him ; but he was one of those active lit- 
tle fellows that manage to accomplish a 
great deal in a day ; and, of course, he 
wanted to do many things that did not 



8 Little JRossze. 

specially belong to him, and which he 
could not do at all well. 

If he did a deal of mischief, no one 
could help loving him, he was so bright 
and sweet about it all, and had so many 
queer old speeches to make to account 
for it. 

Our little boy was pretty, too ; he had 
bright auburn hair and brown eyes, and 
people petted him so much that he 
would have been spoiled if his father and 
mother had not been careful of him, for 
he liked his own way very much, and 
felt quite sure that what he wanted to 
do was the best thing. 

But I have not told his name, though 
it was always to be heard over the house, 
whether little "Rossie" was running 
about his own home or his grandfather's, 
at which he spent a great deal of his 



Our Little Boy. 9 

time ; for he was so fortunate as to have 
two homes where he was loved and 
cared for, and to be able to go very ea- 
sily from one to the other. His grand- 
parents lived in the next town, and were 
always glad to have Rossie and his little 
brother come to them. The children's 
house was not specially interesting ; it 
stood in a crowded factory village on the 
Quinnebaug, where they had no grounds 
to play in, nor any woods in which they 
could climb about ; so it was like going to 
paradise for the little fellows to be wel- 
comed to the large garden, where they 
were at liberty to climb, the great old 
trees for ripe fruit, play with the hay, 
and flourish generally after the manner 
of boys, and to run about the old-fash- 
ioned house with its many curious nooks 
and kindly faces. 



io Little Rossie. 

Rossie had a well-founded idea that 
his grandpapa was one of the Best men 
in the world, and began very young to 
imitate him as far as he could, thinking 
that, if he was so good, it would be good 
in a little boy to kneel like him, to cough 
like him, to do little things like him. 
He got at the spirit of it all when he was 
older. He began to sing before he could 
talk, and would catch any tune which 
pleased him by hearing it once or twice, 
having a great fancy for comic songs. 
His voice was particularly sweet and mu- 
sical, and with it he contributed not a 
little to the enjoyment of his friends. 
He always showed a desire to act out 
the stories he heard, and when very 
young, in repeating the story of Samuel 
and Eli, would always try to imitate a 
man's voice in the call, " Samuel, Samuel," 



Our Little Boy. n 

and then in a child's voice, call out 
" Here am I." As he grew older, he 
learned a great deal of poetry, which he 
repeated with dramatic emphasis and 
action. When a very little boy, he liked 
to say a Poor Peter," which we will give 
for the amusement of other little folks : — 

" Poor Peter was burnt by the poker one day, 
When he made it look pretty and red ; 
For the beautiful sparks made him think it fine play 
To lift it as high as his head. 

" But somehow or other, his finger and thumb 
Were terribly scorched by the heat, 
And he screamed out aloud for his mother to come, 
And he stamped on the floor with his feet. 

" Now if Peter had minded his mother's command, 
His fingers would not have been sore ; 
And he promised again, as she bound up his hand, 
To play with hot pokers no more." 

When he came to, 

" His finger and thumb 
Were terribly scorched by the heat," 



12 Little Rossie. 

he would put out his finger and thumb 
with an expression of great pain, and at 

" Stamped on the floor with his feet," 

he would stamp violently. 

While he was a little fellow, he took a 
journey with his mother, and was on the 
ocean for the first time ; he stood lean- 
ing over the side of the boat, looking 
down into the water very sedately 
awhile, then turning with a satisfied air, 
exclaimed, "Oh, mother, I know what 
makes the water so white and foamy ! It 
is the salt stirring up from the bottom." 

When Rossie was about five years old 
his parents thought best to move to a 
town at some distance, and he never saw 
his grandparents again ; their faithful 
service on earth was over, and they soon 
went to join the great company in the 



Our Little Boy. 13 

" house not made with hands, eternal in 
the heavens." 

As the boy began to make acquaint- 
ance with the people in Central Falls, 
he became specially pleased with Mr. 
W ,* the superintendent of the Sun- 
day-school in which his mother taught 
the infant class. 

One day a merchant near by saw Eos- 
sie leading his little dog along the street, 
and asked him what he was "going to do 
with that dog. 

a I'm going to take him to Mr. W 

and have him weighed/' answered the 
child. 

" Come in here, my boy, and I'll weigh 
him for you," said the man. 

"No," replied Eossie, "I am going to 
take him to Mr. W ; he is the most 



14 Little Rossie. 

righteousest man in Central Falls, and he 
shall weigh my dog." 

a But/' said the merchant, " I can weigh 
the dog as well as he can." 

"No," persisted Rossie, "I've heard 
you swear." 

So far we have told only of the sun- 
shine. Merry, and making merry, our 
little boy frolicked gayly through his 
first five years, never fearing nor feeling 
the shadow of the cloud into which he 
was so soon to enter. 

How well it is for us who walk this 
earth in so much weakness that we can- 
not see just where we are going, or how 
we shall be led! "Sufficient unto the 
day is the evil thereof," — sufficient, too, 
the good that comes with it. 





II. 

OUR LITTLE BOY'S LOSS AND GAIN. 

" There are gains for all our losses, 
There are joys for all our pains." 

NE day little Rossie was playing in 
the barn with some other boys, 
when his father drove up. The boys 
wanted to open the door as wide as pos- 
sible to let him drive in among thera, 
and they pushed as hard as they could ; 
they pushed too hard for the fastenings, 
and the door fell on our poor little boy. 

His father carried him in very careful- 
ly, hardly daring to hope that he would 
ever know him again, but it was not 
long before he looked up at him and 



1 6 Little Rossie. 

said, u Why, I'm not hurt ; " and in a few 
days he was able to run about almost as 
if nothing had happened ; but he never 
was well after this. He grew thin and 
pale and very nervous, and was not able 
to go to school and study like other boys, 
or even to study at home; he had at- 
tacks of severe pain, which could only 
be quieted by having his mother clasp 
him very tightly, and these left him en- 
tirely worn out. 

At last, about a year after his accident, 
an abscess formed on his neck, which all 
the physicians pronounced an indication 
of spinal disease. 

Little Kossie could not run any more 
now, only walk about slowly and pain- 
fully, and there was little hope that he 
would ever grow better. The abscess, 
which never healed afterwards, distressed 



Our Little Boy^s Loss and Gain. 17 

him, and lie was a miserable little boy, 
as he began to think that he might die 
then, while he knew that he was not pre- 
pared to go to heaven. 

He had always been a thoughtful 
child, and knew that he ought to be a 
Christian ; but it was so very easy for him 
to do wrong that he had never tried 
long to give up his own .way 5 now it was 
still easier for him to do wrong, hard to 
be gentle and patient when he felt so 
sick and sore, and not to be cross to the 
other boys who could run about, while he 
could not, and to be willing to do what 
others thought best after he had planned 
for himself; but he thought about the 
life and death of our Saviour, and prayed 
for his good Spirit, till the dear Lord 
gave him strength to try to live like 
him ; and from that time he grew gentler 



18 Little Rossie. 

and sweeter. It was still hard for him to 
be patient and good, but a truly Chris- 
tian motive had more influence in check- 
ing him than any other. 

When Rossie was about eight years 
old, a friend came to visit his mother, 
and brought a new source of interest for 
him and his brother on Sunday. He 
could not read long at a time, because 
holding a book fatigued him so much, 
and he was tired of lying and thinking 
all the day long, so that, though he loved 
to have Sunday come, he grew weary 
of the quietness sometimes. 

His friend tried to impress the idea 
upon the boys that Sunday is a gift and 
a blessing, and ought to be enjoyed 
thankfully ; and to help them to enjoy it, 
she brought an illustrated edition of the 
"Pilgrim's Progress," and some picture- 



Our Little Boy 9 s Loss and Gain. 19 

cards about it ; these never appeared on 
a week-day, and the boys were so much 
interested in them, that they were eager, 
before the week was half through, to 
have Sunday come, that they might hear 
how Christian sped on his journey. 

"I want to go through the 'Wicket 
Gate,' " said Rossie, " but I don't care to 
climb the i Hill Difficulty ; ' I'd rather go 
where I like." 

The Hill Difficulty was his appointed 
path, however, and he walked up it with 
an increasing faith and trust that made 
the rough places smooth for him. 

Rossie knew that he should never be 
well again; he was very eager to find 
out all he could, and, as his father was a 
physician, he questioned him till he 
knew quite well the position of all the 
bones and muscles, and understood ex- 



20 Little Rossie. 

actly where and how he was hurt. At 
first, he was very much troubled, for fear 
his mother would die and leave him, and 
found it hard to feel that God would 
take care of him, if he should take her 
away. Not that she was sick at all, 
but the little boy's mind was apt to dwell 
on painful subjects, and his dependence 
on his mother made him think how 
much he should miss lier if she should 
leave him. 

He could not study regularly, because 
his brain was easily excited, but as he 
had a very good memory, and was • al- 
ways asking sensible questions, he con- 
trived to learn so much that he seemed 
much older than he really was, and he 
had such a comically wise way of putting 
things, that older people liked to talk 
"v^ith him, so he had an opportunity of 



Our Little Boy's Loss and Gain. 21 

learning more and more every day. He 
learned to write well, though he had to 
hold his poor head with one hand, and 
he found great comfort in drawing, for 
which he had a natural taste. About 
this time, " The Pearl of Orr's Island" was 
coming out in the " Independent/'and he 
illustrated the weekly numbers in a very 
spirited style, spending hours in drawing 
the figures on his porcelain slate. He 
could sew, too, making a tiny patch-work 
bed-quilt, and doing some pieces of wors- 
ted-work, always busy about something, 
when he was at all able to be employed. 
But with all the amusements that he 
could have, and nothing reasonable was 
ever denied to the little sick boy, it was 
a great trial to be sick; he had been 
a very active child and eager to learn ; 
now he could only look at the others 



22 Little Rossie. 

racing about, while he moved slowly 
wrapped in his dressing-gown, from one 
place to another, and he was only able 
to study for a few moments at a time ; 
besides, his disease was one that makes 
its victims irritable, and it was not easy 
for him to be pleasant and amiable, 
though he tried. 

Much of the joy of life had passed 
away from him, but he had received a 
great blessing, — so great a one that he 
felt afterwards thankful for the injury 
which had turned his thoughts to the 
Saviour; his trust in him was as an 
anchor that never failed him, and he was 
sure that all the pain was sent by the 
overruling Love. So while we pitied 
po6r little Eossie, we were glad for him, 
for he knew the meaning of life, and 
learned its lessons well and deeply. If 



Our Little Boy '5 Loss and Gain. 23 

his path did lie up the Hill Difficulty, 
he saw many things that were hidden 
to the dwellers on the plain, and all 
the shadows never veiled the Great Sun 
from his childish eyes. 




III. 

NEW FRIENDS. 

"Through losses and crosses, 
Be lessons right severe; 
There's wit there, ye'll get there, 
Ye'll find nae other where." 




HEN Rossie was about ten years 
old, his father's mother was very 
sick, and his mother made her a long 
visit, so he was sent to pass some time 
with an aunt who was boarding in the 
same town where he had so loved to 
visit his grandpapa. He soon became 
acquainted with all the neighbors, and, 
with a little relative about his own age, 
used to go in and out through the great 
farmhouses, with "the comfortable easi- 
ness of childhood." They liked to go 



New Friends. 25 

into the graveyard, too, and think and 
talk soberly, not sadly, of the friends 
who were buried there. So knowledge 
and love of both the living and the dead 
grew stronger in thein as they breathed 
the sweet country air, and received those 
best gifts that come to us unconsciously. 
Sometimes they would ride off to visit a 
favorite aunt two or three miles away, 
where two cousins were ready to enjoy, 
with them, all the wonderful delights of a 
great farm, and to introduce them to 
horses, cattle, pigs, turkeys, hens, and the 
whole train of humble friends that glad- 
dens the farmyard. 

Everybody loved the two delicate 
children, and people liked to amuse 
themselves with Rossie's u queer streaks " 
of knowledge. For instance, he could 
tell the history of the translations of the 



26 Little Rossie. 

Bible quite well, at the same time that 
he was delighted at learning how to 
prove addition, and he was always bring- 
ing out some bit of information that was 
odd for a child to have. He was still 
very fond of singing, though his voice 
had lost somewhat of the peculiar sweet- 
ness which had marked it His favorite 
hymn at this time was 

"Must Jesus bear the cross alone, 
And all the world go free? 
No, there's a cross for every one, 
And there's a cross for me. 

" How happy are the saints above 
Who once went sorrowing here ! 
But now they taste unmingled love, 
And joy without a tear. 

"The consecrated cross I'll bear, 
Till death shall set me free, 
And then go home my crown to wear; 
For there's a crown for me." 

This hymn he used to apply to him- 



New Friends. 27 

self and his friends most appropriately, 
showing a quickness of thought and per- 
ception wonderful in a child so young. 

A Pomfret friend writes, "He chose 
for me the hymn/ Must Jesus bear the 
Cross alone ? ' After I had played it for 
him, he said, referring to an invalid 
friend in the house, c We all know what 

Miss H 's cross is, but what is 

yours ? ' Then seeing my eyes fill with 

tears, he added/ Ah, I think Miss C 's 

thoughts trouble her sometimes,' looking 
at me so pityingly all the time. I invol- 
untarily drew the little face near to me, 
and kissed him, and thought the cross he 
bore, which to many might have seemed 
too heavy, had not crushed out large 
sympathy for others, — nay, had taught it.' 
In fact, he was a singular mixture of 
child and man. While he liked to play 



28 Little Rossze. 

with paper dolls, on wet days when he 
could not go out, he liked better to visit 
his grandpapa's minister, and talk with 
him of Jesus and of heaven, enjoying his 
society as much as that of his playmates. 
The good man says of him, " He was a 
wonder to me ; he was one of those chil- 
dren, of whom the prophet says, that, 6 one 
shall die an hundred years . old ; ' his 
mind appeared to be occupied with the 
gravest subjects, and his* reasonings to 
have the maturity and strength of age, . 
while in many respects he was altogether 
a child." 

The young pastor, whose church he 
attended, boarded in the same family, 
and the children were careful not to dis- 
turb him when busy, though they w T ere 
fond of visiting his room at proper times. 
Mr. A writes, " I saw much of him in 



New Friends. 29 

the summer of 1862, while a pastor in 
Pomfret. For many weeks we eat at the 
same table, and slept beneath the same 
roof, and many times in the day ex- 
changed greetings, which were often pro- 
longed, when my duties would warrant 
me the pleasure of inviting him to my 
study, into the free and informal inter- 
view of an hour. My impressions of him 
are very vivid, as a boy of singular ma- 
turity of character and early develop- 
ment of mind, united with the utmost 
simplicity and trustfulness, at an age 
which to many is but the dawning of ma- 
ture thought and reflection upon the 
grave questions of religious faith. His 
mind was quick to perceive the truth, not 
in its abstract form, like the existence of 
a God, and his right to govern the world, 
but in its relations to himself, grasping 



30 Little Rossie. 

the thought of God as his Father, and 
Jesus as his Saviour, and his duty to 
live a holy and obedient life. With all 
his maturity of mind, he never lost the 
element of childhood. 

u Of the many interviews, which are as- 
sociated in my mind with Rossie's life in 
Pomfret, I remember one with great dis- 
tinctness. I think it was near the time 
of our communion that he came to my 
room, and greeting me in that sweet 
way that was peculiar to him, asked me 
if I were disengaged. I told him, c Yes, 
if Rossie wished to see me.' He said he 
wished to talk with me about making a 
profession of his faith in Christ. In an- 
swer to my inquiries, he told me of the 
time when he gave his heart to the Sa- 
viour, and how bright and happy his life 
had been since he had felt the Saviour's 



New Friends. 31 

presence and love in his heart. He spoke 
of his first convictions of sin, and his 
need of a Saviour, and how he had tried 
to obey the Saviour's voice, and go to him 
for forgiveness and peace. As an ex- 
pression of the gratitude and love that 
filled his heart, he now desired to make 
a public confession of the Saviour, and 
his purpose to live to his glory. 

" In all the talks I was ever privileged 
to have with him, with reference to his 
religious life, I never detected in him 
anything of self-consciousness. He was 
in the most lovely sense a child, early 
consecrated, let us hope, to the Master 
whose disciple he desired to be. The 
memory that will abide with me, when 
others grow dim, of our lamented Eossie, 
is that of a religious boy, whose heart 
beat with warmest love to his Saviour. 



32 Little Rossie. 

who bore the crosses and denials, which 
he was pleased to appoint to him, with 
singular sweetness and submission, and 
who, in the mirror of his affliction, re- 
flected the image of his Divine Master." 
During this visit, the Sabbath ques- 
tion came up again, as it does in the 
education of every child, who is edu- 
cated at all in any righj; sense of the 
word. These children were now old 
enough to understand why God had said 
to them, "Remember the Sabbath-day 
to keep it. holy;" they had learned that 
when God gave - his commandments to 
Moses, he had called him up into the 
stillness of the mountain, that the noise 
and cares of daily life might not divert 
his attention in the least from the voice 
of the Lord Jehovah; they knew that 
one of those commandments given so 



New Friends. 33 

long ago creates even now such a still- 
ness around our homes on every Sab- 
bath-clay; that, without leaving our friends, 
as Moses did, we, too, can listen undis- 
turbed to his voice. When the coming 
of our rest-day hushes the busy hum of 
machinery, shuts the school-house door, 
takes the tools from the hands of the 
tired laborer, and relieves the patient 
cattle, all Christian children know that 
such, changes have a deep and beautiful 
meaning, and they should see in its re- 
straints the kindness of their heavenly 
Father in keeping one day for us to 
learn of him. They know, too, and 
should always remember, that the ten 
commandments are so firmly linked to- 
gether that no one can fail to keep one, 
and not be likely to break all these in- 
spired laws. 



34 Little Rossie. 

The Sunday-school is a great aid in 
keeping the minds of the dear little ones 
interested in the lessons of our Lord, and 
we know that Jesus, who took young 
children in his arms and blessed them, 
will look on it with a sweet and loving 
smile, and will bless to the teacher and 
the taught, the good work done for his 
sake. When our dear Lord was a little 
boy on our earth, he a kept his Father's 
law," and he knows the temptations to 
break it that children have now, and 
will succor any child who goes to him 
for strength to do his duty. When he 
was a man, he told his disciples that 
though he had come to teach them many 
new things, he had not come to set aside 
the ten commandments, and he will be 
ready to give help to keep them. All 
God's commands were given us for our 



New Friends. 35 

own good, as well as his glory, and a lit- 
tle thought will show any child that our 
Lord's day, with all its rest and change 
of employment, its heavenly influences, 
its higher atmosphere, is an unspeakable 
privilege, a precious gift, a wonderful 
blessing, a fitting emblem of the rest 
above ! 

Eossie took great interest in tracing 
the footsteps of Jesus on the map of Pal- 
estine, following his movements on the 
hills and through the valleys of Juclea 
with thorough understanding and sym- 
pathy, always interested in whatever 
served to illustrate or explain the Bible, 
in the study of which he delighted. One 
of his favorite expressions in prayer, 
which showed the way in which he ap- 
plied to his own use what he had learned, 
was, " Keep me true to the Bible." He 



36 Little Rossie. 

used to pray a good deal, though he 
said, "The devil troubles me in pray- 
ing ; " he says, a Get through quick." 

At this time, Rossie was asked why he 
wished to make a profession of religion ; 
he said, " Because I love the Lord Jesus, 
and wish to obey his commands." 

"How do you know that you love 
him ? " was the next question. 

* Because I love to please him, and do 
not do those things I used to which dis- 
please him." 

a But do you never say or do anything 
which displeases him now ? " 

" Certainly I do," replied the little boy, 
"but I am very sorry when I do so. 
Before I loved him, I did not care much 
when I did wrong." 

This visit had a good effect on Rossie's 
health, but the improvement was not 



New Friends. 37 

lasting. He seemed to look forward 
quietly to an early death, and often said 
that he did not see why a Christian 
should be afraid to die. , It was so natu- 
ral to him to think of religion as the joy 
of his life that it seemed a part of him 
which he must express on all suitable oc- 
casions. Sometimes it came out oddly 
half playfully, as in this instance : he was 
in the habit of adding occasionally u D. 
V." — Deo volente, or " God willing," to a 
promise or a plan. One day he wrote to 
a cousin that he had intended to make a 
visit the day before, but D. wasn't V. 

After his grandmother's death, his 
mother came for him, and he returned to 
Central Falls, leaving the memory of 
his little pale face and cheerful patience 
to the many new friends who had been 
so kind to him. 



IV. 




OUR LITTLE PATRIOT. 

" We take, with solemn thankfulness, 
Our burden up, nor ask it less; 
And count it joy that even we v . 
May suffer, serve, or wait for thee, 
Whose will be done." 

"Nobly borne is nobly done." 

|HEN the war, which we all re- 
member so well, — our war, — 
first broke out, Kossie's father felt that his 
country called him, and that he must 
join the army ; but how could he leave 
the poor little sick son, who was so fond- 
ly attached to him, and so dependent 
upon him? He had failed of late, and 
was growing weaker every day, and it 
seemed cruel to deprive him of so much 



Our Little Patriot. 39 

happiness, and, at the same time, add to 
his already painful nervousness. 

The struggle was a severe one, but at 
last the true patriotism that saved our 
country to us conquered in the family. 
Rossie, of his own accord, said, u Father, 
if you think you ought to go, don't stay 
on my account ; " and his father went. 

The little patriot bore the parting 
bravely, but soon began to suffer from 
the separation and anxiety, and if a 
letter did not come to reassure them 
every day, he was too restless to sleep, 
and his increasing pain told how poorly 
the weakened nerves were able to bear 
the strain. How many who were strong 
to endure the agony of waiting through 
all that long, dark night of distress and 
terror, and felt that human strength 
would sometimes break down under a 



40 Little Rossie. 

sudden shock, or the sickening fear that 
gave them no reprieve, will understand 
the suffering of the child whose will 
was strong in the midst of pain, but 
could not conquer it. Like the martyrs, 
he could sing psalms in the flames, but 
was none the less burned. 

After some months, the 11th Rhode 
Island Volunteers, of which his father 
was surgeon, was ordered to Minot's Hill, 
near Washington, and Rossie and his 
mother hastened to join it. The little 
boy was not able to walk even a few 
steps to the depot, but every hour 
seemed to increase his strength as it 
brought him nearer to his father, and 
when he arrived at Washington, and met 
him at last, his joy gave him power for 
anything, and instead of resting, as had 
been planned, he rode on in an ambu- 



Our Little Patriot. 41 

lance at once. Of course every one 
feared a reaction, but it never came. 
The winter was mild, and Eossie im- 
proved every day. His letters, written 
while in Virginia, express the greatest 
satisfaction " in living in a tent, boarded 
up around the sides, with a floor and a 
stove." "I had a great deal rather be 
here than at home, on account of my 
father," writes the boy, who soon grew 
well enough to go into the hospital, and 
was a great pet of the men. He used to 
write letters for them, and amuse them 
with his odd, witty sayings, and they 
talked to him about their families, and 
gave him a share of their good things. 

As he grew stronger, his father bought 
him an old horse, who seemed to under- 
stand the exact state of his rider's nerves, 
and was always perfectly gentle with 



42 Little Rossze. 

him ; he never even trotted, but walked 
carefully about the country when Rossie 
was on his back, but as soon as he was 
safely on the ground, and one of the 
many darkeys had mounted, the animal 
relieved himself by innumerable mad 
pranks, then he would prick up his ears 
and prance, turn round and round, and 
start off at full speed, refusing to be quiet 
till he had made up for his past self-re- 
straint. 

The little boy on the large horse was 
the subject of occasional jokes from the 
soldiers, which he was always ready to 
return. 

" Hallo, Brigadier General ! " called out 
one man. 

" Hallo, Private!" answered Rossie, 

I 

instantly. 

a What's your rank ? " said another. 



Our Little Patriot 43 

"I haven't received my commission 
yet/' was the dignified reply. 

Here he had a good lesson in polite- 
ness, which may be useful to some other 
little boy. He had visited the head- 
quarters of the medical director, which 
were also those of Gen. Abercrombie, 
with his father, and as the director liked 
to talk with him, he went, often. One 
day he went alone, and saw an old man 
in faded dressing-gown and shabby slip- 
pers, reading his paper at a window, but 
took no notice of him. In the course of 
a chat with the director, Eossie suddenly 
said, " Does Abercrombie live here in this 
house ? " and was going on to express his 
desire to see him, when a significant ges- 
ture made him look at the old man, who 
had dropped his paper, and was peering 
at him over his spectacles. 



44 Little Rossie. 

a Who is this young gentleman ? " said 
he, in a deep voice. 

"It is Surgeon Perry's son/' said the 
director. 

Poor Rossie was ashamed of himself 
for once, and declared that he should 
never forget to put the handle on any 
one's name as long as he lived, though 
he would persist that a a Major General, 
if he did not choose to wear his uniform, 
ought at least to look decent." 

Rossie was devoted to President Lin- 
coln with the enthusiasm of a child and a 
patriot. He was taken to Washington 
to attend two of the public receptions, 
and was delighted to see the kindly face, 
which smiled its peculiar, sad smile on 
the pale, eager one upraised to it. He 
liked to see the public buildings, but the 
Dead Letter Office had a special fascina- 



Our Little Patriot. 45 

tion for him ; he cried himself sick at see- 
ing the heaps of letters and gifts sent to 
dead or missing soldiers, but he always 
wanted to go again; his sympathy for all 
our heroes knew no bounds. 

During the last part of the winter, 
Rossie was delighted by the coming 
of his brother, whose presence always 
doubled his enjoyment and alleviated his 
sufferings, and the two used to go out on 
little expeditions to rebel camps and 
other points of interest, returning with 
.many trophies. The negroes were a 
never-failing source of interest to the 
boy, who treated them with the greatest 
kindness, and made great efforts to teach 
them. He took much pains with a very 
odd boy, * half-boy and half-monkey," full 
of mischief, named Crash, an unpromising 
subject, who would not be taught, but 



46 Little Rossie. 

was always ready to dance and sing. 
He had a special fondness for what he 
called "leegious" (religious) songs, of 
which the following may serve as a 
specimen : — 

"I had a little sisser, 
And she got Verted; 
I had an ole mudder 
Come a runnm' wid de news. 

Jesus, Jesus, 
Am sittin' on God's throne." 

A more hopeful pupil was Amos, a 
black preacher, earnest and devoted, but 
very ignorant. He begged to be taken 
North when the doctor returned, so that 
Eossie had an opportunity of teaching 
him to read and write somewhat, and it 
would be difficult to tell whether pupil 
or teacher was most delighted when 
Amos finished, without assistance, his first 
sentence, a I am a free man." 



Our Little Patriot. 47 

Eossie had been examined for admis- 
sion to the church before he left home, 
and, as no one had any doubt of his faith 
in Christ and even maturity of religious 
experience, he would have been received 
by the family of believers at that time, 
had he not left home so suddenly to join 
his father. While he was with the army, 
he told the chaplain of the regiment of 
this, and expressed his very strong desire 
to be admitted to the Communion, which 
was accordingly done, and he joined, for 
the first time, in the outward sign of re- 
membrance of the Saviour, whom he had 
long loved. 

The chaplain says of him, "He was 
with us during three or four months of 
the winter of 1862-63, and he endeared 
himself to all with whom he associated. 
He took special delight in whatever 



48 Little Rossie. 

touched the great questions of freedom 
and education for the slaves, and in the 
religious interests of the regiment. At 
our evening meetings, his camp-chair was 
usually near my own, and there was no 
heart more in sympathy with the service, 
no eye oftener filled with tears, no voice 
more sweetly blended with our songs. 
Often was I delighted to converse with 
him of religious trust and joy ; his ex- 
perience seemed to be that of a mature 
Christian." 

A letter from Rossie's mother, about 
this time, tells of one of those sudden 
movements, incident to camp life, so 
graphically, that we need no excuse for 
inserting it. a And now I must tell you 
of the most serious experience of camp 
life I've yet met with. On Sunday night 
we ladies, three in number, went out to 



Our Little Patriot. 49 

dress-parade, because in pleasant weather 
the religious services are held immedi- 
ately after in the open air. It was like 
a summer- evening; the sky was as red 
and glowing as it is with us in August, 
and the air almost as mild. The regi- 
ment never looked better, and, as they 
all joined in singing the doxology, I 
thought I never heard anything finer ; I 

remarked to Mrs. G , the chaplain's 

wife, that the more I saw of them, and 
the more perfect they became in their 
exercises, the more I dreaded the thought 
of their being called upon to lay down 
their lives on the battle-field. 

" We went to bed as usual, but, about 
midnight, what they call the long-roll 
was sounded. It was an awfully solemn 
sound, breaking as it did so suddenly on 
the perfect stillness, though I had no 



50 Little Rossie. 

idea what it meant till the doctor jumped 
up, and in a moment more the whole 
camp was alive; it was a warning that 
the rebels were near, and in a moment 
more came the order to march with 
knapsacks and blankets, and everything 
on their backs. Signal-rockets had been 
thrown up, and the whole brigade was 
ordered to march no one knew where, 
or whether it would ever come back 
again. The colonel left the surgeon in 
charge of the sick, and told him to be in 
readiness to attend the wounded, if there 
was an engagement, and the quarter- 
master was left in care of the stores, and 
both were left in charge of the camp, 
with forty men as guard. 

"All the brigade formed into line on 
the parade-ground; all seemed in good 
spirits ; it was a splendid sight. I heard 



Our Little Patriot. 51 

one man say to Mrs. G , who was ex- 
pecting to go to Providence the next 
day, 'Tell my wife I went cheerfully :' 
another said, 'I would rather my two 
boys should live without me under a 
good government, than with me under 
the Southern Confederacy;' another, a 
yOung man who had made a most im- 
pressive prayer at the evening meeting 

a few hours before, said to Mrs. G , 

1 Give my love to my mother, and tell her 
I am not afraid ; I am looking up ! ' 

" They marched off singing, ' We are 
marching along/ and it was a glorious 
sight. We were to remain in camp till 
further orders, but to pack up and be 
ready to start at a moment's warning. 
We went to bed and slept as quietly as 
we could under the circumstances, till late 
next morning, when I arose and packed 



52 Little JRosste. 

everything of my own and my husband's, 
and waited in suspense till late in the day, 
when a message came from the colonel 
stating that the rebel cavalry had made a 
raid, and destroyed some property, but had 
passed the place, ten miles off, where our 
men went an hour befpre they arrived. 
They were too late to catch the main 
body, but I understand they secured two 
or three stragglers, and made them pris- 
oners, and recaptured some of the stores. 
He also sent word that they expected to 
return before long. This was a great re- 
lief to us, for neither they nor we knew 
whether they would come back or not ; 
but I was glad to see them all back, 
I assure you, for I had no fancy for 
being drummed out of camp in that way. 
u The next day all was quiet, but last 
night that dreadful long roll sounded 



Our Little Patriot. 53 

. again, and the whole brigade received or- 
ders to sleep on their arms, and to be 
ready to march in three minutes' time. 
They will remain on the alert till further 
orders. 

" We, Rossie and I, had the credit of 
behaving pretty well in this, to us, rather 
trying emergency ; but, of course, it is 
not as if the doctor was obliged to go 
and leave us. The colonel says his duty 
is here on account of the sick and 
wounded, if there sUbuld be any. 

"At the time of the alarm, Rossie was 
excited and eager as any of the soldiers, 
and I really think he expected to go 
with them. ... I go down to the 
hospital as often as I can, write letters 
for the men, and sometimes make 
cookies and gingerbread for those who 
long for something that tastes like home. 



54 Little Rossie. 

One poor fellow has spinal disease, and 
has suffered awfully. He says, 'I don't 
know whom to send for. When you come 
to see me, I think I want my mother, 
and when the men have to lift me I want 
my father.' " 

Not long after, it was thought best for 
Rossie to go home; so the family said 
good-by to the doctor, and went back 
again to Central Falls. The change of 
climate, the new interests, and the differ- 
ent modes of life hUd worked favorably 
for the feeble boy, and the improvement 
was so marked that his parents began to 
hope that he might yet be spared to 
them. He himself seemed to have some 
idea that he might live to grow up, and 
inquired if he could be allowed to preach 
sitting down, thinking he should like to 
be a minister. 



Our Little Patriot. 55 

The example of a daily effort to con- 
quer all sinful tendencies, and especially 
to be patient in suffering and confine- 
ment, was his allotted way of preaching, 
and very effective it was. Many of 
those who knew him write of the power- 
ful impression produced by his cheerful 
endurance in the midst of such severe 
pain. 




V. 



THE SURRENDER. 

"I would have gone, God bade me stay; 
I would have worked : he bade me rest. 
He broke my will from day to day; 
fie read my yearnings unexpressed, 
And said them Nay." 

" Heaven is not reached at a single bound, 
But we build the ladder, by which we rise, 
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, 
And we mount to its summit round by round." 

JS soon as practicable after Kossie's 
return, lie joined the church to 
which his father and mother belonged, as 
he had long wished to do. His pastor 
says of him, u He talked like an old, ex- 
perienced Christian, and in giving his ex- 
perience with reference to publicly pro- 
fessing Christ, he was clear and perfectly 
satisfactory to all who were present ; no 




The Surrender. 57 

one had any question about the genuine- 
ness of his faith in Christ, and when he 
came forward the next Sabbath, and stood 
up before the great congregation, and pub- 
licly took upon himself the vows of the 
gospel, it was an affecting sight, and one 
never to be forgotten by those who wit- 
nessed it. We all felt that he would soon 
be welcomed to the higher communion 
of the spirits of the just in glory. 

"He lingered on the shores of time 
longer than any of us had dared to hope, 
and his room was always a Bethel, the 
central place of the family, around which 
all the charms of the household seemed 
to cluster ; but God, at length, took him ; 
he ripened into heaven; was ready to 
go, glad to go, and, I have no doubt, 
sings the song of redeeming love, with a 
strong, unfaltering voice." 



58 Little JRossze. 

Soon after his joining the church, his 
parents moved to Providence, where the 
little boy found more objects of interest 
than he had had before. The family lived 
for a short time in a large boarding-house, 
where Eossie made many friends, whom 
he enjoyed exceedingly. Being decided- 
ly stronger than before he went South, 
he was able to sew and knit considerably, 
and amuse himself in many quiet ways. 
He was always in the habit of riding a 
great deal with his father, whenever he 
was at all able, and the beautiful scenery 
about his new home was a great delight 
to him. When in the house, he worked 
with all his strength in making Christ- 
mas presents for his friends. After Christ- 
mas was over, he commenced a large bed- 
quilt, made of tiny blocks of silk of vari- 
ous colors, in the arrangement of which 



The Sm'render. 59 

he displayed his usual fine taste, varying 
his employments by knitting and sewing 
for a little namesake, to whom he wished 
to make useful presents. 

At this time, he had a printing-press, 
which was a source of very much amuse- 
ment to him. He printed cards and 
little sentences, and delighted to send 
envelopes to his friends, on which he had 
printed his own name and address, that 
they might be reminded of his claim to a 
letter in reply y but it soon appeared, 
that it was too hard work for him to 
move the roller, and he was obliged to 
content himself with arranging the press 
and setting the type, and to depend on 
his brother for the printing. 

In the course of the summer, Eossie 
had made some comfort-bags for the sol- 
diers, as so many other boys and girls 



60 Little Rosste. 

did during the war, and wrote pleasant 
little notes with them. A soldier from 
Massachusetts answered his note, and 
they kept up a brisk correspondence for 
some time. Eossie writes, in answer to 
the first letter : — 

" My dear Friend, Mr. M., — I received 
your letter last Tuesday, and was very 
glad to get it. I never expected to hear 
from my comfort-bag, I had waited so 
long, but c patient waiters are no losers,' 
they say, and I believe it; I am glad 
that the comfort-bag, and the few little 
things in it, fell into the hands of one 
that thought the letter worth answering, 
and if the things have done any good, 
I should be most happy to send some 
more ; it was a very poor attempt that I 
made, and I should be glad to better it. 



The Surrender. 61 

I am a little boy, eleven years old, and I 
have been sick for six years. I told you 
that I should like to send you some read 
ing. What kind of reading do you like ? 
I am a little boy, you know, and I cannot 
choose reading for grown-up men. Do 
you like plain, substantial reading, or 
something like the Waverley Novels ? I 
will send you some religious papers, if 
you like them. 

" My mother was a Massachusetts wo- 
man, and she says she should like to 
know any one who comes from that 
State. My grandfather was a merchant 
in Boston for thirty or forty years j 
he was deacon of old Dr. Beecher's 
church. Perhaps you have heard of 
him. 

"If God spares both our lives, I hope 
we may meet some time. I shall al- 



62 Little JRossze. 

ways be glad I made that comfort-bag, 
though it was a little thing ; it has given 
me much pleasure in making it, and in 
hearing from it. I am very glad, Mr. 
M., that you are a Christian. Perhaps 
you can, by your letters, help me along. 
I trust that I am a Christian, though I 
find it pretty hard to fight the battles 
sometimes. I hope you will pray for me ; 
I shall always remember you in my 
prayers. I should really like to hear how 
many battles you have been in, and all 
about your life in 4 camp. Did I mention 
to you, in the little note I wrote, that I 
spent last winter in camp with my fa- 
ther ? We lived under canvas all win- 
ter, and had a splendid time ! " 

Several other letters, full of childish 
interest and offers of service, followed, 



The Surrender. 63 

when Eossie was alarmed by some stray 
rumors, and wrote, — 

"Bear Friend Joseph, — I have re- 
ceived no answer to my letter, and we 
are all feeling very uneasy about you. 
Please drop a line to me, in this envel- 
ope, as soon as you receive this. As yet, 
I have not heard of the 15th Mass. Regi- 
ment being in a fight, but if it has been, 
let me know the worst. I do hope and 
almost trust that you will come out ■ all 
right;' but if not, please let me know 
the worst, and deliver me from this sus- 
pense. Please take means, as I said in 
my last, to let me know if you should be 
wounded, or anything else." 

In the next letter he begs him again 
to have him informed of any casualty, 



64 Little Rossie. 

promising to do "everything I can to 
comfort and help you." After a battle, 
he writes, "I was exceedingly relieved 
to get your letter, and know that you 
came out safe. There was a good deal 
of assurance in so few words, — c I'm all 
right.' That means that you have not 
been scratched, and have not come very 
near to being scratched (thatis^no nearer 
than anybody, who goes into a fight, must 
be). I hope the Lord will be with Jo- 
seph, and spare his life all through the 
campaign. Do take care to have some- 
thing done, by means of which I can 
know if you should be hurt, — I can't say 
killed. Father, mother, and brother — I 
haven't any sister (wish I had) — send 
love, and you know I do." 

For some reason, this soldier, though 



The Surrender. 65 

often invited, never visited Rossie, but he 
was anxious to receive a visit from him. 
Rossie promised to go, if he ever got 
well enough, but he never was so strong 
again as at that time j so the plan was 
given up. 

As the mild summer weather had 
strengthened him so much, it was thought 
best to take him to Boston, to try me- 
chanical means for bringing his spine into 
natural position, but the attempt was 
abandoned, after causing him much suf- 
fering, and was worse than a failure. 
The support which was made for him 
not only gave him very great pain, but 
caused another abscess, which was even 
more severe than the first, and never 
healed while the weary life lasted. The 
pain and the disappointment were very 
hard to bear, and poor Rossie's nervous 



66 Little Rossie. 

irritability was a great trial both to him- 
self and his friends. On one occasion, 
after some conversation on the subject of 
unreasonable exaction had taken place, 
in his room, he asked a friend if she 
thought him unreasonable. She told 
him that she did not think he meant to 
be, but that he was so sometimes. He 
asked when, and she offered to tell him 
the next time she saw signs of it. He 
assented, but, with some doubt of his own 
temper, added, — 

" Don't tell me the same day; will 
you?" 

Soon after, some one was talking be- 
fore him about the doctrine of election, 
or, rather, such misrepresentations of that 
doctrine as are often made. He listened 
with great attention, having never been 
instructed in such matters, and when he 



The Surrender. 67 

was again alone with his friend, he asked 
what the conversation meant, — it was 
all new to him. Was there anything in 
the Bible about it ? Did his grandfather 
(his highest human authority) believe 
it ? His friend was interested to see how 
a purely scriptural account of the doc- 
trine would impress a mind like his, and 
read to him the last part of the eighth 
chapter of Romans, and other kindred 
passages, without remark of her own. 
He listened with close attention until all 
had been read, and then said, — 

"Well, if that is all any one had to 
make such a story out of, I should think 
he wanted to find fault with God." 

This last sentence was uttered very 
emphatically. 

Rossie had always kept up a great in- 
terest in the progress of the war, and had 



68 Little Rossie. 

encouraged the eager, excited communi- 
cations of the boys of the family, in their 
frequent visits to his room, keeping him- 
self accurately informed of everything 
that transpired. At the death of Presi- 
dent Lincoln, that great sorrow of our 
nation, he was overcome with grief, and 
repeated again and again, — 

" Why couldn't God have taken me in- 
stead ? I am a poor little boy, and can 
do nothing for my country, and he could 
do so much." 

After this, he positively forbade a word 
on politics in his room ; for he knew that 
things were going badly, and his weak- 
ened nerves could not bear the recital of 
blunder and wrong-doing. 

" I hope," he said, piteously, " the boys 
wont think I'm not a true patriot; but, 



The Surrender. 69 

indeed, I can't bear to hear them talk 
about these things now." 

The following lines, about the burial of 
the President, were great favorites with 
Rossie, who was always ready to read 
them to his friends : — 



" Lay him to rest ; lay him deep in the ground. 
Full long enough ye have borne him around, 
With the tramping of horses, the weary drum-beat, 
Before all the eyes and the glare of the street. 

Lay him to rest. 

u They were eyes full of love ; they were eyes that did 
weep ; 
And the chillness of death on the cities did creep ; 
But now, let him go, gentle friends, to his rest ; 
Let him go to his home in the heart of the West. 

Lay him to rest. 



" We brought him from westward, because he was just ; 
We made him a chieftain, we gave him our trust ; 
Serene in the midst of the tumult he stood ; 
And we learned that 'tis greatest of all to be good. 

Lay him to rest. 



70 Little Rossie. 

" We've let him die for us, — yes, we've let liim die 
With his armor all on, as the soldier boys lie ; 
Not a moment of warning, — a message to tell ; 
And we say he sleep's well ! and we say he sleeps well ! 

Lay him to rest. 

" Be proud, Illinois ! for to you it was given 
To raise up the noblest of martyrs for heaven. 
Be pure, Illinois ! for now 'tis your part 
To let the dear ashes repose on your heart. 

Lay him to rest." 

At this time, Eossie wrote an account 
of a sermon from his beloved pastor, 
which showed the interest and apprecia- 
tion with which he remembered his 
words : — 

"He compared the two deaths of our 
Saviour and the President, which the 
drapings in the house commemorated, — 
the black drapings on the galleries and 
pulpit, and the silver vessels and white 
drapings before the pulpit; then he 
spoke of the great likeness and the great 



The Surrender. 71 

difference; he said both were assassina- 
tions, both were committed by rebels, 
and, in both cases, they aimed to destroy 
the government they made stronger, and 
in both cases they killed their best friend, 
and defeated their object. He said the 
great difference was, the blood of the 
President must be avenged, but the blood 
of Jesus was not to bring vengeance, but 
pardon and forgiveness." Then, at the last 
part of the sermon, he said, u There is 
not a man here but feels the sorrow of 
these black drapings, and would # feel ex- 
asperated with any one who could look 
with indifference on them ; but -have you 
nothing to do with these drapings on the 
communion-table ? " 

Though, on account of his frequent ill- 
nesses, Rossie was not able to attend Sun- 
day-school regularly, he was very much 



72 Little Rossie. 

interested in it, and would sometimes in- 
sist on going when so weak as to be 
obliged to rest on a pillow during the 
recitation. He would always learn the 
lesson himself, and help the other boys 
to do so ; then, if he could not go with 
them, say, patiently, — 

"I shall be with you, in spirit, at 
least," 

In the summer, he wrote a great many 
letters to his brother, who was absent for 
some months, giving him graphic ac- 
counts of everything that went on at 
home, — the fitting of the house, and 
consequent hubbub, the freaks of new 
horses, etc., illustrating by frequent pen 
and ink drawings, wonderfully spirited for 
a child. Not long after Grosvenor left, 
Rossie wrote to him, — 



The Surrender. 73 

"My Dearest Brother, — . . . I went to 
the Sunday-School Convention yesterday, 
the first that has ever been held here, and 
took the prize offered by Mr. Sargent to 
the one who could answer his questions. 
He told a story about two little birds 
coming and building their nests on the 
ground, in a large, open field, and the 
cattle were turned into the field, and 
they tramped all over the field, and never 
stepped on the nest, though sometimes 
they came very near to it ; then he said, 
if any child could give him a passage 
of Scripture any way like the story, he 
would give him a book. I waited a few 
minutes for some one to rise, and then I 
jumped up and said, as loud as I dared, 
'Are not two sparrows sold for a 
farthing? And one of them shall not 
fall on the ground without your Father.' 



74 Little Rossie. 

When he came to take my name, he 
told me where to go to get the book, and 
I shall go to-morrow." 

Afterwards he tells him that his prize 
book is very interesting, and that Mr, 
Sargent wrote him a letter, to which he 
replied. 

Many things in the simple, free letters 
of Rossie show how completely religion 
had become a part of his inner life ; he 
begs Grosvenor not to delay attending to 
it, and wishes that he were ready to join 
the church to which he and their parents 
were about to unite themselves. 

A good place had been found for Amos 
with one of Rossie's aunts, where he was 
well cared for. Rossie writes to his 
brother, — 



The Surrender. 75 

u If you write to Amos, be sure to form 
every letter correctly, or he cannot read 
them ; and make your R's like this (r), 
for he cannot read the other kind (r). 
You had better direct an envelope to 
yourself, and enclose it to him, and tell 
him what to do with it, for he wont suf- 
fer Aunt M. to direct his letters, and don't 
know how himself, though he thinks he 
does." 

Amos was so anxious to learn more, 
that he went to the district school for 
three successive winters, and studied with 
the children till he could read and write 
well. 

White ("my young missis call me 
White, 'cause I so black") was another 
protege of the doctor who had been 
brought from the army, and was retained 
in the family; he was very faithful and 



76 Little Rossze. 

devoted to Rossie, who writes of him, 
" White gets along nicely with his stud- 
ies. I am trying to teach him figures; 
he knows them as far as nine, but can't 
go two figures. I think he will learn in 
a little while. He is getting quite inde- 
pendent, and I am glad of it. He does 
not seem at all afraid of any one now, 
though he is just as ready to do what we 
ask him as he ever was." 
In July, Rossie writes, — 

"My Own Darling Brother, — I have 
been very sick, and can hardly say I'm 
any better now, though I have got into 
a good position in my chair, and am not 
in so much pain as I have been. This is 
a comfortable day, and I wish I could jump 
up and go down street in the horse-cars ; 
but, oh ! if I move an inch in my chair, 



The Surrender. 77 

I am in terrible pain. Another abscess 
is forming, and there is no putting it off; 
it is coming slowly but surely. I don't 
think it will have to be lanced, for it 
must be about ready to break now, so I 
expect to be spared that agony. Our 
friends are going away, and I shall be so 
glad to have you home so soon to com- 
fort and amuse me." 

He was soon rejoiced by the home- 
coming of the brother whom he had so 
much missed, who shared his interests 
and devoted himself to his comfort. He 
writes to another friend, — 

"You can't think how glad I was to 
see Grosvenor; I never was so long 
away from him before. Only think, I 
did not see him in six months; he is 



78 Little Rossie. 

now in college, having passed a first-rate 
examination. He has joined a society 
which is not a wholly ' good-time ' society^ 
but is for mutual improvement. He has 
told them about his resolution not to 
smoke, nor drink anything • they con- 
gratulated him, and said they would 
not tempt him." 

Eossie had been sick so long, and was, 
withal, such a decided character, that he 
often talked as if the older of the two, 
and Grosvenor listened good-naturedly, 
with all deference. Kossie once heard 
a minister talking with one of his friends 
of the little feeling of their own sinful- 
ness exhibited by some who professed to 
be Christians, remarking that the preach- 
ing of the present day, unlike that of a 
former period, was calculated to produce 
such a result ; and not long after, he in- 



The Surrender. 79 

quired of this friend what the minister 
meant. He was told that he probably 
meant that unless one felt that he was a 
great sinner he would not feel his need 
of the Saviour of sinners. His brother, 
who was present, said that his pastor had 
told him that he must not wait to feel his 
sinfulness any more, but must now conse- 
crate his life to the Saviour, but that he 
thought he was not ready to do that, be- 
cause he had not a deeper sense of his 
guilt. 

"But," said Eossie, "as Jesus Christ 
has died for you, why not accept what he 
has done, as he asks you to, and spend 
your time in trying to do better ? " 

Eossie knew very well that he was 
sicker than he had been, yet he had no 
fear of death. He was by no means a 
perfect boy, and did not consider him- 



8o Little Rossie. 

self at all so ; but he knew that he wished 
to do right, and tried to be good and pa- 
tient, and he knew, too, that the loving 
Saviour could see that he wanted to be 
like him, and would help him, as he will 
help any boy or girl who tries to do his 
will. 

This knowledge made our poor sick boy 
able to bear so much pain, and gave him 
more happy thoughts in all his suffering 
than many healthy children have who 
never felt his distress or his consolation. 
He could say truly, — 

" To-day, ay, even this very hour 

Is the best hour I ever knew. 
Not that my Father gives to me 

More blessings than in days gone by, 
Dropping in my uplifted hands 

All things for which I blindly cry, 
But that his plans and purposes 

Have grown, to me, less strange and dim, 
And, where I cannot understand, 

I trust the issue unto Him." 



VI 



ESAU. 

"A bundle of possibilities, tied up with mischief." 

" But our captain counts the image of God nevertheless his hu- 
ge, cut in ebony as if done in ivory." —The Good Sea Captain. 




E have got a strange addition to 
our family in the shape of a ten- 
year-old black boy/' writes Rossie, "as 
smart as a cricket, and quick as light- 
ning. Papa found him in the hands of a 
police officer, and offered to take him, 
and care for him; so he brought him 
home here, and now he seems quite at 
home. 

"Perhaps you may think as I did, 
'What in the world can we do with 
him ? ' He has found plenty to occupy 



82 Little Rosste. 

his time since he came, principally in 
waiting upon me, setting and waiting on 
table, which he does to a T, running to 
the door, etc. ; he is very smart, as I say, 
and I only wish he had you to teach him ; 
he knows nothing at all of ' book-larn- 
in' ; ' don't know who Jesus Christ is, or 
anything at all about the Bible ; he don't 
know three weeks from three years, and 
in fact hardly knows anything of that 
sort, but he is very quick, and has 
learned a verse in the Bible very well in 
a short time" 

To his brother he writes, "Papa has 
concluded that crutches would help, me 
about walking, and take the pressure off 
my spine. I am inclined to think so too, 
though I declare I never will be seen in 
the street with them. 

a Well, papa said he would try and get 



Esau. 83 

some, so he went off in the morning after 
taking the measure for the crutches, and 
about half an hour afterwards he drove 
up to the door again, and came up the 
front steps, where I met him. 'Look 
here,' said he, 'I've brought you some 
legs, Kossie.' Well, it was very natural 
for me to think he had brought the 
crutches, but while I was looking round 
for them, he turned my head in the right 
direction, and, lo, and behold ! i what do 
you think I saw?' Nothing more nor 
less than a little coal-black boy about my 
size. Papa introduced me to him in the 
following manner : — 

" ' You see him ? ' 

u 6 Yar, sar.' 

a ' Well, that's your master. You un- 
derstand ? ' 

"' Yar, sar' (with a very broad grin), 



84 Little Rossie. 

after which introduction, he asked me 
what I thought of my legs. I told him I 
was sure / did not know what to do with 
him. 

" 6 Well/ he said, * a policeman was tak- 
ing him off to the Keform School, and I 
offered to take him ; so he let me bring 
him home here, and now he will wait on 
table, go to the door, and wait on you in 
particular, and you must teach him to 
read/ So we brought him in, put on 
some decent clothes, and he was duly 
installed." 

When the queer-looking little boy first 
came, Rossie asked his name. 

a Esau Lee, sir," was the reply. 

Various other questions being answered 
he looked at the boy thoughtfully, and 
said, " Well, Esau, you find the legs, and 
I'll find the brains ; " but he found himself 



Esau. 85 

excused from that care, for Esau had 
plenty of brain, though it was sadly in 
want of guidance. He had run away 
from his master, and had followed a regi- 
ment to Providence. On his way thither, 
he had learned a great many funny 
tricks, with which he used to amuse the 
soldiers, being rewarded with whiskey or 
a little money, and he liked these much 
better than doing anything sensible. 
fle had no idea of the rights of property, 
and Epssie insisted that u he didn't know 
how to speak the truth ; " but he soon had 
a warm attachment to his young u mas- 
sa," as he called him, and a massa's " care 
and love acted powerfully to restrain the 
wild little waif. 

Nothing could be known of Esau's 
mother, as neither he nor any of the 
soldiers knew where his master lived, so 



86 Little Rossie. 

no inquiries could be made. The boy 
seemed to remember her lovingly, some- 
times saying, when looking at the moon, 
" My mudder see dat moon/' and object- 
ing to have his hair cut or his name 
changed, lest his " mudder nebber know 
him." Frequently when he had fallen 
into disgrace, he was heard to soliloquize 
in a corner, " Silly boy to run away from 
mudder!" 

At first, Esau had a trick of hiding, if 
he did not choose to answer any^all, ap- 
parently imagining that no one would 
have energy enough to hunt him up ; but 
he soon found his mistake, and became 
tolerably obedient. He was a firm be- 
liever in ghosts when he came, and was 
sure that he had seen them, but finally 
concluded that it was his " mudder " who 
had had that pleasure. Rossie tried to 



Esau. 87 

convince him that it was impossible, ask- 
ing him if he did not know that his soul 
would go either to heaven or to hell, and 
his body .only would be buried, when he 
died, and that couldn't walk about the 
graveyard to frighten people ; for after 
the flesh had become dust, it would be 
like « Old Dess " [Old Death], as Esau al- 
ways called the skeleton in the doctor's 
office. a Yes," said he, u I know that only 
my meat will be put in the ground," but 
seemed to have some idea that the spirits 
of the wicked walked the earth perhaps 
as a punishment. 

Esau was very much affected by the 
story of Jesus Christ, as told him by Eos- 
sie, who took great pains to make him 
understand the account of the crucifixion, 
and the idea that Jesus was willing to 
endure it all to save him. Being asked 



88 Little Rossie. 

afterwards, " Why he should try to please 
God?" he readily answered, as if there 
could be but one reply to such a ques- 
tion, "Oh, 'cause he let his Son die for 
me." 

When Esau came into the family, Eos- 
sie was much affected by his utter igno- 
rance of spiritual things, and taught him 
as his first prayer, the cry of the blind 
man by the wayside, a Jesus, thou Son of 
David, have jaercy on me." 

He always taught him his Sunday- 
school lessons faithfully, and instructed 
him about his duties to others. He 
overheard him at one time joining with 
other boys in calling wicked names, and 
told him that he must not do so. 

" Yes, Massa Eossie, I shall call him all 
the names I ever can, 'cause he call me 
hery bad words." 



Esau. 89 

a But," said Bossie, " Jesus did not do 
so when people called him bad names, 
and he didn't teach us to do so." 

"Massa Bossie," replied Esau, impa- 
tiently, "Jesus Christ was Jesus Christ, 
but we's only peoples." 

Esau was sensitive about his color, and 
came in one day, complaining bitterly 
that some one had called him a % nigger." 
Bossie told him that it meant negro, and 
was used as the Irish are called Paddies, 
and he himself a Yankee, adding, " I don't 
mind when they call me Yankee, and 
you must not mind when they call you 
nigger" 

"Well," said Esau, somewhat abashed, 
and trying to excuse his anger, a I telled 
him I didn't come to him to make me 
white." 

One day he w^as found cutting his hair 



9° Little Rossie. 

in a peculiar way, and explained that he 
was trying "to cut a path in it like Mas- 
sa Kossie's." He inquired of White, 
'■' What for your hair and mine not like 
Massa Eossie's ? " 

" Oh, go 'way," was the unsatisfactory 
reply. "What for your mudder' and 
mine not like Massa Rossie's I" 

At another time a man, passing the 
two boys, heard Esau say, "Massa Ros- 
sie," as he always did, and inquired, " Is 
that little fellow your master? and do 
you have to mind him ? " 

After he had passed, Rossie said, « You 
don't care, Esau ; do you ? " 

"I don't care about the mind, Massa 
Rossie, but I does care about the little." 

«Dat boy," as White used to call him, 
mixed up his bits of information in a 
very funny way sometimes. Being asked 



Esau* 91 

in Sunday-school "how God put a soul 
into Adam at the creation?" he very 
soberly said, "He hlew it into him." 

He was at one time informing White 
of a new bit of knowledge he had gained, 
asking him if he knew that the abbre- 
viation Mr. meant a gentleman. White 
asked him what Mrs. meant. 

« Why, if Mr. means one gentleman, 
Mrs. means two gentlemen, sure." 

Like most of his race, he liked the 
sound of long words, and was not partic- 
ular to understand, their meaning. One 
day he heard some one say, in answer to 
a question, that the doctor was engaged. 

" Yes, missis," said he, " the doctor is in 
de gage ob de cow now." 

Finding that much was thought of 
birthdays, he concluded to have his on 
the same day with Rossie, and to call 



92 Little Rossie. 

himself twelve when Eossie was fourteen ; 
and after this was settled between them, 
Esau quietly remarked that he thought 
the doctor would have the bells rung on 
the occasion, but was told that they were 
neither of them of sufficient importance 
in the community for such a demonstra- 
tion. Unexpectedly to the family, in the 
course of the day the bells did ring for 
the inauguration of Gen. Burnside as 
Governor of Rhode Island, when Esau ran 
in, much delighted, saying he " knowed 
the doctor would have, de bells rung." 

Rossie took much care of Esau, who 
committed to him the charge of his 
purse, and other equally important trusts. 
One day, after he had been particularly 
disobedient, Rossie handed him some new 
clothes which had been made for him, 
with the question, — 



Esau. 93 

"Do you think you deserve these, 
Esau ? Have you behaved well enough 
to have them ? " 

" I don't 'have for dem t'ings, Massa 
Eossie ; I works for 'em/' was his reply. 

In the midst of his own pain, Eossie 
used to pray and work for Esau, who 
always knew where he could find sym- 
pathy and advice in his many distresses, 
and his still more frequent scrapes, and 
being the younger, though much the 
larger of the two boys, was willing to 
learn from him. Though Eossie was 
sometimes impatient with his wayward- 
ness, he was generally considerate tow- 
ards him ; he taught him as far as he 
had strength, and prayed often and ear- 
nestly for his conversion, sending a mes- 
sage from his death-bed, to tell Esau that 
he must be a Christian. 



VII 



OUR LITTLE MAN. 

" All may be heroes : — 
* The man who rules his spirit,' saith the v©ice 
Which cannot err, ■' is greater than the man 
Who takes a city.' Hence it surely follows, 
If each might have dominion of himself, 
Then each would be a prince, a hero, — greater, 
He will be a Man, in likeness of his Maker." 




N the winter of 1865-66, the doc- 
tor's house was the home of sev- 



eral cousins, all boys, attending school or 
college, full of eager, busy life. Eossie 
was interested in all they said and did, 
but he was such a care-taking child, and 
so full of nervous anxieties about them, 
that his father thought his health might 
improve if he would withdraw from the 
household, and only see the family as they 



Our Little Man. 95 

called at his room. He told the boy that 
he would live longer if he should do so. 
But this was no motive to him ; and since 
he was already shut out from so many 
sources of entertainment, and his life was 
likely to be so short, both father and 
mother felt unwilling to oblige him to 
retire from the family. - 

His aunt tried to persuade him to take 
his room voluntarily, promising to re- 
main with him and share his confine- 
ment, and urging that he could preserve 
a more Christ-like spirit in a more quiet 
life. This struggle was a severe one; 
there was much for him to give up, and 
the result was somewhat uncertain. He 
had been able to ride, and would even 
go by himself in the street cars, over- 
taxing entirely his slender strength, and 
returning exhausted and irritable ; but as 



$6 Little Rossze. 

his retirement to his room included the 
experiment of temporary confinement to 
his bed, this great pleasure would be en- 
tirely cut off, as well as the amusement 
of seeing all the callers in a very lively 
family. Then he had a great desire to 
be remembered always, and feared that 
when he should be out of sight, some 
one of his many cherished friends might 
not think of him so often, or so tenderly, 
as before. The decision was left to him- 
self, and he finally concluded, after 
thoughtful and prayerful deliberation, 
that it was God's will that he should give 
up his own will in the matter, and retire 
to his room.* After he had once made up 
his mind, he had no more doubt, and said, 
a few days later, " I feel more as if I were 
doing as God would have me do than I 
have for a long time." He chdse his 



Our Little Man. 97 

own room, received the promise of each 
one of the family not to forget him, and 
to visit him often, and passed heroically 
from them to his bed. 

The resolution which had been so 
hard for him introduced a new era in his 
character. Ever after he was more 
manly, more self-contained, more watch- 
ful over his temper, and more anxious to 
do just the will of his heavenly Father ; 
and he would often ask at night whether 
he had exercised self-control during the 
day, and speak of the effort it cost him, 
showing how closely he watched his pwn 
emotions. At this time, he wrote, — 

a You may have heard that I am now 
confined to my chamber, also to my bed j 
not that I am much worse, though I 
think my spine is more curved than 
it used to be, so that papa thought, if 



$8 Little Rossie. 

something were not done immediately, I 
couldn't live long. After some persua- 
sion, and quite a struggle in my own 
mind, I concluded to go to bed. I said, 
when I came, that I would stay a month. 
Three weeks of it have gone ; of course I 
shall not get up at the end of the month. 
Now that I have begun, I shall lie till 
some permanent good comes from it; that 
is, unless I find, at the end of six months, 
that I am no better. I think, though, 
that I am already better, so that I hope 
to get up in the spring or early summer. 
It is a great trial to me, but all my friends 

are very kind, especially Aunt L 9 

who has given up all her plans, just to 

come and take care of me 

But you must excuse me from writing 
more now, for it is hard to write on one's 



Our Little Man. 99 

back, — and write soon, and amuse and 
please your bedridden little friend, 

"R. P. P." 

From this time, Rossie's room was a 
good place for the other boys, where they 
talked over their plans and difficulties, 
and found the constant help of his prac- 
tical common sense. Many cases of con- 
science were settled there, and many an 
impulse to earnest, manly Christian life 
came from the child, whose life of trial 
and suffering drew slowly nearer its 
close. He was anxious that his room 
should be cheerful to them, that they 
might remember it with pleasure after 
he had gone. 

The first call he received there was 
from his pastor, with whom he talked 
about his decision, and Dr. S. confirmed 



ioo Little Rossie. 

him in the idea that he had indeed fol- 
lowed God's will, by complying with the 
expressed wishes of his friends and doc- 
tors, as really as if it had been made 
known in another way. 

Eossie's room and appointments were 
chosen by himself. He used a soldier's 
cot, haying on one side a writing-desk, 
well supplied with paper and envelopes 
of various sizes, pens, pencils, paints, 
stamps, drawing paper, and sealing-wax, 
and containing four motto cards, placed 
by himself on each corner of the lid : 
" For me to live is Christ, and to die is 
gain." * Thy will be done on earth." 
" By the grace of God, I am what I am." 
■ u Looking unto Jesus." On the other 
side was a work-table provided with scis- 
sors, needles, pins, silk, and thread of 
all imaginable varieties (for he was still 



Our Little Man. 101 

able to embroider very nicely, and made 
beautiful presents of his own handiwork 
to his friends). Two large scrolls, one of 
Bible verses, one of devotional poetry, 
hung in his room, and were regularly 
turned for him. 

For some weeks Eossie lay patiently 
on his little bed, but the position aggra- 
vated his cough so much that the experi- 
ment was given up, and he began to 
move about and sit in a low rocking 
chair as before ; but he .remained con- 
fined to that one room for several months. 

He would take his little portfolio on 
his knees and write for some time, ex- 
pressing himself with great clearness and 
ease ; or he would paint, draw, or em- 
broider, showing in all the nicest taste, 
till the bright scarlet spot on his cheek 
gave warning that his strength was over- 



102 Little Rossie. 

taxed. His care for the family was as 
marked as ever ; he insisted on keeping 
the tools used in the household in his 
own room, because the boys would leave 
them about, and no one would know 
where they were, while he could take 
care of them and make the others bring 
back what they had used. 

While confined to his room, he writes 
to a friend, "I do know that I am a 
thousand times better off than thousands 
of people bQth poor and rich. Don't 
think that I think my cross so heavy ; it is 
not. I think I have borne heavier my- 
self; I should not have to go to Boston, 
or among your poor people, to find much 
greater sufferers than myself. One poor 
woman — not poor as far as money goes 
— is very much worse than I am, for she 
has not lain down for two or three weeks. 



Oar Little Man. 103 

She has dropsy, and has to sit straight 
up in a chair, all the time. I myself, 
when my first abscess came, suffered ten 
times worse than I do now. For twenty 
days I could neither sit nor lie, but had 
to rest in mother's lap, my knees on her 
knees and my head on her shoulder ; I 
used to lie for hours dreading to stir, 
and when I did have to move, oh, what 
agony I suffered ! And then the lancing ! 
Oh, I am quite well off now; I have 
everything for my comfort. These scrolls 
— one of beautiful hymns, the other of 
comforting texts — hang where I read 
them twenty times a day. • 

" My little table by my bed has two 
glass dishes full of the most lovely green- 
house flowers on it, and almost always 
I have them through the kindness of 
friends. Papa has just bought me a 



104 Little Rossze. 

Waltham watch, so that I can always 
know the time. Auntie reads beautiful 
stories, etc., etc. It makes my confine- 
ment much easier, though it is pretty 
tiresome now. I am better than when I 
came up, and hope to be about by the 
time roses are in bloom." 

He was orderly by nature, and it 
seemed best and pleasantest to plan a 
regular course of occupations and amuse- 
ments for the day, though, on account of 
his increasing pain and weakness, these 
plans " were made of leather not of iron ; " 
still he was happier to have some order 
to fall back *upon. He could not begin 
his day early, as his nights often gave 
him but little repose, but as soon as pos- 
sible after breakfast he listened to the 
reading of God's Word, which, he said, 
was "the most interesting thing he did 



Our Little Man. 105 

in the day." To him the Bible was a 
book of deep and never failing interest ; 
he learned about its history, and the way 
in which God had preserved it to us ; he 
followed step by step the movements of 
God's chosen people, and still more in- 
tently the footsteps of the Divine Master, 
while he drew nearer day by day to the 
final union with him. On one occasion, 
his pastor found little Rossie much dis- 
turbed by the recurrence of bleeding at 
the nose, and saying that he could not 
feel resigned to it. Dr. Swain asked if 
he had prayed that it might be taken 
away. 

u Oh, yes," said Rossie, " indeed, I have." 

" That is right," replied the doctor. 

a Jesus prayed that the cup might pass 

away, but he said something else, too : 

6 Nevertheless, not my will, but thine be 



io6 Little Rossie. 

done.' " Rossie remembered that he had 
asked only for relief, and confessed his 
mistake. 

One day he spoke of his clothing, 
which was merely a night-gown, say- 
ing, " When I get well, I'm not going to 
dress as I do now ; I shall dress very 
nicely." 

He then went into a minute descrip- 
tion of each separate article of a boy's ap- 
parel, which he meant to have, convers- 
ing in such animated strains that it was 
almost painful to listen, when one knew 
how little likely he was ever to wear 
such clothes. All at once his tone 
changed, and he said, "But I shall not 
need the clothes. I am not going to get 
well ; I'm going to another country." 

"Then," said his friend, "you'll wear 
a white robe, and have palms in your 



Our Little Man. 107 

hands/' alluding to a verse on the scroll 
in his room. 

" Yes/' said he, u and then I shall 
walk in the golden streets, and see Jesus 
and the angels, and grandpa and grandma 
and my little brother (one who had died 
in infancy), and all whom I know in 
heaven." 

His voice faltered, he threw his arms 
around her, and burst into tears, and said, 
" / don't know why it is, when I want to 
go to heaven so much, that I can't speak 
of it without tears, but I believe it is the 
separation." 

After a conversation on the shortness 
of the dreaded separation, he was com- 
forted. Though racked with suffering, 
Eossie was ready to sympathize with 
every one of his many visitors, and had 
a rare tact in choosing the subjects best 



108 Little Rossie. 

calculated to entertain them. Boys and 
girls liked to go to his pleasant room, and 
older people, too, found pleasure there. 
He had many kind friends, his pastor 
was most attentive, and ever gladly wel- 
comed. His brother and cousins were 
devoted to him, and nothing was want- 
ing that could cheer his hours of retire- 
ment. Still, though patient, he was very 
tired of the winter's confinement; and 
near its close, he writes, " I am quite 
contented now, and have not the slight- 
est desire to be out in the wind and cold ; 
but I should like to go over the house 
into all the rooms, and see how they 
have got along without me. I some- 
times think I might do a great deal more 
if I could go about, that is, be more use- 
ful ; but they all think this is my duty, 
and I suppose I shall * stick it out ' now 



Our Little Man. 109 

to the end of the six months. I try to 
do some good to the two contrabands 
that are here; they have taken a new 

start since Aunt L took hold with 

me, and I think both will soon be able to 
read right off in any book. But I must 
wind up my precious watch and go to 
bed. This going to bed is in reality 
getting out of bed, having my bed made, 
and getting in again." 

"My poor little boy," said his father, 
" you must have a weary life of it ; you 
have suffered more than any boy I ever 
knew." 

"But you must remember, father," 
said the little invalid, "that if I have 
suffered more, I have enjoyed more, too." 

One night, after he had gone to bed, 
he said, "Auntie, I shall always thank 
God that he made me a sick little boy, 



no Little Rossie. 

for I think I should have been a very 
wicked one if he had not." 

His aunt tried to quiet him, fearing 
that, if he talked, he would be too much 
excited to sleep, but he was anxious to 
confess something "very wicked," which 
he had once done. Not receiving an im- 
mediate answer to his confession, he said, 
anxiously, "Auntie, are you very sorry 
I told you?" evidently fearing that the 
love he prized so highly would be di- 
minished. Being reassured on this point, 
and reminded of the scriptural injunction, 
6 Confess your faults one to another, and 
pray one for another," he was very 
desirous to know how he was to be cer- 
tain that he had repented, since it was 
unlikely that he would be ever tempted 
to sin in the same way again. 



Our Little Man. in 

" Repentance is to leave 

The sins we loved before ; 
And show that we in earnest grieve 
By doing so no more." 

This was Rossie's idea of repent- 
ance, — he was simply amazed at being 
sometimes spoken to as if his willingness 
to die arose from an innocent life; for 
he knew that he had often done wrong, 
had often been irritable and exacting, 
but he felt sure of his heavenly Father's 
love to him, and of his longing desire to 
forgive every offence. He could go to 
him in penitence, saying, " I have sinned," 
and enjoy a sense of his forgiveness, while 
growing more and more anxious to avoid 
his besetting sins, and to bring forth 
fruits worthy of repentance. 

Rossie had the utmost faith in prayer, 
and his petitions for all the younger 
members of the family were very earnest, 



112 Little Rossie. 

but for his only brother they were truly 
importunate. He prayed, as if he could 
not be denied, that he might love the 
Saviour, and that, together with their 
parents, they might sit at his table, and 
commemorate his love. Rising from his 
knees, he once cast his eyes upon the 
scroll of Bible verses, and read the fol- 
lowing: "If two of you shall agree on 
earth, as touching anything which they 
shall ask, it shall be done for them of 
my Father which is in heaven." 

"Is that verse certainly true?" he 
asked. "Does God mean just as he 
says ? " 

" Certainly," was the reply. 

" Then," continued he, " I feel sure 
that Grosvenor will be converted, for you 
and I are two, and we certainly do agree 
about this one thing." 



Our Little Man. 



"3 



After this, he was constantly watching 
for an answer to his prayer, hailing 
with gratitude his brother's increasing 
interest in the great subject, and griev- 
ing if he noticed that anything else was 
occupying too much of his thought. 




VIII. 

FARTHER ON. 

w Closer and closer my steps 
Come to the dark abysm, 
Closer Death to my lips 
Presses the awful chrism. 

"Oh, happy, happy that I am ! 
If thou canst be, O Faith, 
The treasure that thou art in life, 
What wilt thou be in death? * 

1)0 ON after he wrote to the friend 
who had prayed with him, " Our 
prayers are answered, and Grosvenor is a 
Christian ; he is going to join the church 
here, and father, mother, and myself all 
join it too, from the church in Central 
Falls. Then we shall be an unbroken 
family at the Lord's table." 

The union for which he had longed so 




Farther On. 115 

earnestly and prayed so ardently had at 
last taken place, and when the summer 
weather permitted our sick boy to go out 
again, the whole family went together to 
commemorate the love which illumined 
alike the active, busy life of the mature, 
the earnest, preparatory work of the in- 
genuous youth, and that slow and sol- 
emn yet cheerful approach to the grave 
which made the sick-room a Bethel. 

After this Eossie was taken to his 
father's early home to pass the hot 
weather, and spent most of the next 
three months out of the city accompa- 
nied by his mother and Esau, who had 
become so accustomed to wait upon him 
as to be almost indispensable. 

"One of the dearest recollections I 
have of Eossie," says a valued friend, " is 
that on a brilliant summer afternoon, 



n6 ' Little Rossie. 

when, after a long and pleasant drive to- 
gether, we stopped at a beautiful place, 
where a friend was staying, and went 
wandering down garden pathways and 
through a great greenhouse and grap- 
ery. 

" There was nothing that escaped Ros- 
sie's eye, — no tint of leaf, or flower, or 
fruit, no effect of sun or shadow; but 
after a little while, becoming weary, he 
slipped his slender hand over my arm, 
and went with me toward a cool and 
shady retreat in the lower part of the 
garden. On his way he looked up at 
me with those bright, wistful eyes of his, 
and asked, * When did you and I begin 
to be friends?" I have forgotten my 
exact answer, but from this, I remember 
how he went on talking of his likings for 
persons. This talk was not light and un- 



Farther On. 117 

thinking chatter ; it was thoughtful and 
full of his peculiar wisdom; it showed 
plainly that his likings were founded on 
real insight into character. 

But, with all this delicacy of insight, 
this unusual maturity of mind, he had, 
too, the genuine love of fun and frolic 
'and what boyish pursuits it was possible 
for him to follow. 

And this love of fun, together with his 
quickness of perception, often led him to 
tnake remarks that were long remem- 
bered for their wit. For instance, in the 
first of the war, when there was so much 
talk of what should be done with the 
traitor Jeff. Davis, when he was caught, 
and one was prophesying one thing, and 
another another, all agreeing that some 
terrible punishment must befall him, 
Rossie, listening one day to this talk, 



n8 Little JRossie. 

remarked, "Hum! they wont do any- 
thing with him but put him in a feather- 
bed." The curiously clear conception of 
the leniency with which the traitor would 
be treated in the event of his capture — 
a conception which seems like some- 
thing prophetic now — is an instance of 
the peculiarity of his mind. Those who 
knew him well could go on telling story 
after story of this kind, and of his 
goodness, too, his piety and trust in God 
and in that heaven, which to him only 
appeared another home, where his life 
would go on painless and freed from all 
the weariness which this contained for 
him. To that home he has now attained ; 
there he walks truly a freed spirit, no 
longer cramped by the fetters of the 
flesh, the suffering little body. We 
can no longer say from our pity, * Poor 



Farther On. 119 

little Rossie ! " for he is now rich, — rich 
in the kingdom of heaven. 

When the summer was over, he was 
glad to go back again to his home. The 
curvature of his spine had increased, and 
he was unable to move about without 
crutches, and grew constantly weaker 
and more full of pain, which he bore with 
the utmost bravery. 

He did not return to the room in which 
he had passed the last winter, but took a 
small one, opening into a larger, in which 
he slept. In the little one were arranged 
his curiosities, working materials, etc., 
but we will let him describe it for him- 
self in a letter to a comparative stranger, 
dated, — 

"Providence, Oct., 1866. 

" My Dear Friend, — I was very much 
pleased when I received the two papers, 



120 Little JRosste. 

to find that you still remembered me. 
I have thought often of you since the 
day of my trip to Rocky Point, and I shall 
never forget your kindness there, and 
I have wondered a great deal if ever I 
should hear from you or see you again ; 
and it gives me great pleasure to know 
that I am still remembered, and I flatter 
myself so much as to think that you 
would like to have me write to you, for 
it will be a satisfaction to myself to 
thank you again for your kind atten- 
tions. 

a I have had two very severe attacks 
since I saw you. That day was a very 
trying day for me ; I did too much, and 
so, as soon as I got home, I had to give 
up entirely. Still, I cannot say that I re- 
gret it; I am willing to suffer consider- 
ably for the sake of enjoying so much. 



Farther On. 121 

I do not know as I shall ever go again, 
for if I walk now over a rod at a time, I 
have a return of the pain. I suppose it is 
neuralgia. 

" The papers came while I was in bed, 
and I read them with much interest. 
They proved a great comfort to me, and 
amused me for a long time, and helped 
me to forget my pains. I did not see 
a great deal of your little daughter. 
How I wish I could see you both in my 
little sitting-room ! I think in a very 
little while we should know each other. 
It is a difficult thing to get acquainted in 
such a crowd as thronged past us every 
moment. 

"My room is about ten feet square. 
All my things are here, — my museum, 
my sewing materials, books, etc. I write 
a great deal, — I love to, — and nothing 



122 Little Rossie. 

would please me more than to have 
you for a correspondent. I love to hear 
from my friends, now and then, — the 
offcener the better. I enjoy myself very 
much though I am sick ; I have every- 
thing to make me happy, besides -every 
luxury that kind parents can procure ; I 
have those comforts which many well 
people have not, — the comforts of reli- 
gion. If it were not for these, I could 
not live and be happy. 

u I hope you will think this letter worth 
answering. Remember me to your little 
girl, and believe me to be your very 
affectionate little excursionist, 

"Roswell Park Perry." 

A physician who frequently visited 
the family says of him, " Rossie had the 
impatient and suffering temperament, and 



Farther On. 123 

the great wonder is that he manifested so 
much patience under such severe and 
protracted pain. He suffered from awful 
attacks of neuralgia which he once told 
me would c come as sudden as lightning 
and drive the screeches out of him.' " 

One of Kossie's great comforts was 
listening to reading, and he was always 
interested in such books as his mother 
and older friends would naturally choose 
for themselves. History and "Littell's 
Living Age" had long shared his atten- 
tion, and u Our Young Folks/' with its 
riddles and rebuses ; but the Bible had 
always a fresh charm for him, and of 
that alone he never wearied. He de- 
lighted in poetry, particularly hymns, 
which, though he was not strong enough 
to recite himself, he often asked his 
friends to repeat for him. One which 



124 Little Rossie. 

interested him very much at this- time, 
from its touching description of his own 
position, was this : — 

" I am kneeling at the threshold, weary, faint, and sore, 
Waiting for the dawning, for the opening of the door, — 
Waiting till the Master shall bid me rise and come 
To the glory of his presence, to the gladness of his home. 

" A weary path I've travelled, 'mid darkness, storm, and 
strife, 
Bearing many a burden, struggling for my life , 
But now the morn is breaking ; my toil will soon be o'er ; 
I'm kneeling at the threshold, my hand is on the door ! 

" Methinks I hear the voices of the blessed, as they stand 
Singing in the sunshine, in the far-off, sinless land : ' 
Oh ! would that I were with them, amid their shining 

throng, 
Mingling in their worship, joining in their song ! 

" With them the blessed angels, that know no grief or sin ; 
I see them by the portals, prepared to let me in. 
O Lord, I wait thy pleasure; thy time and way are 

best; 
But I'm wasted, worn, and weary ; O Father, bid me 
rest!" 




IX. 

NEAR IN G THE BEAUTIFUL CITT. 

" O mother dear, Jerusalem" ! 
When shall I come to thee ? 
When shall my sorrows have an end ? 
Thy joys when shall I see ? " 

1HE last winter of Rossie's life was 
one of very great interest to the 
friends who clustered about him. His 
room, which had been the cheerful ren- 
dezvous of the boys, was so no longer ; 
he was not able to receive long calls from 
them, but he welcomed them cheerfully, 
as they came in to talk with him for a 
moment, and loved to think that they did 
not forget him. White and Esau were 
sometimes taught there, and though Ros- 
sie's failing strength would not allow him 
to instruct them himself, his interest and 



126 Little Rossie. 

care for them never flagged. The little 
wasted invalid, who could not move, nor 
even be touched, without pain, would, as 
long as he was able, try to teach them to 
repeat Bible verses from his beloved scroll. 
Esau had learned to repeat correctly the 
first part of the fourteenth chapter of St. 
John, and frequently recited it to sopthe 
the restless hours of his little master. 

Numberless little errands, necessary 
for the work, which he still kept up, were 
readily performed by the members of 
the family, always rewarded by the 
grateful look and never-failing, "Thank 
you," that acknowledged every service, 
however slight. He had expressed a 
wish that, if it were God's will, he might 
live till after Christina!; for, though so 
feeble, he had prepared, with his own 
hands, some little gift for each one of 



Nearing the Beautiful City. 127 

his family friends, and he wished to pre- 
sent those gifts himself. Seated in one 
side of his little rocking-chair, with his 
feet drawn up under him, always sup- 
porting his head with one hand, unless 
it were propped up with pillows, he 
might be seen engaged in drawing very 
nice pictures for his mother j then, seek- 
ing relief in a change of employment, he 
would embroider the initials of some 
loved one on a handkerchief, or work on 
a dressing-case, which, with the aid of his 
mother, he was preparing for another. 
He showed great judgment in the selec- 
tion of his gifts, and his friends were 
often surprised to find their wants an- 
ticipated, by the dear boy's thoughtful 
love. 

On Christmas-day, he dined with the 
family for the last time, the excitement 



128 Little JRossze. 

of the occasion, the giving and receiving 
of gifts, the unusual stir around him, so 
fatigued him, that he was glad to be 
taken, back to the quiet of his own room, 
early in the afternoon ; and he left that 
room but once again, until he passed to 
the mansion prepared for him above. 

Among his many beautiful presents, 
Eossie particularly enjoyed an illuminated 
text, a Look unto me, and be ye saved," 
which was at once added to the many 
ornaments of his room, and delighted his 
eyes and his heart so long as earthly 
joys could reach them. 

A few Sundays before his last, at his 
own request, the communion was admin- 
istered to him. Two or three besides the 
family were present, and it was an occa- 
sion of deepest interest to all j but to lit- 
tle Eossie it was very joyful ; the night 



Nearing the Beautiful City. 129 

after his heart was so full of joy that he 
could not sleep, but at midnight was 
heard singing, — 

" Pm going home, Tin going home, 
I'm going home to die no more." 

" Oh, how happy I am," he said. u What 
makes me so happy ? " He was told that 
it must be because Jesus was near him, 
and he replied, " Yes, I feel just as I did 
when I first gave him my heart," adding, 
"If I do live, I shall ask Dr. Swain to 
come again and administer the commu- 
nion ; wouldn't it be proper ? " 

On New Year's day, he asked for a 
new diary, having been accustomed, for 
two or three years, to note anything of 
interest in one. When it was brought, 
him, he wrote the record of the day, then 
turned to the 5th of April, and wrote, 



130 Little Rossie. 

66 This is my birthday ; I am fifteen years 
old," then pointing to the words with a 
cheerful smile, he observed, " Tve written 
it, auntie, but do you think I'll be here 
then?" 

About this time, Eossie said that he 
wished each of his friends to have some 
reminder of him, and he would like to 
arrange for this himself; so he wanted 
to make his will. This document he 
asked his aunt to write out for him, 
thinking that the idea would pain his 
mother. He left to his father a favorite 
bust of General Grant ; to his mother, a 
beautiful watch-chain, which he had pur- 
chased with his own money ; to his 
brother, the desk which had been' so 
close a companion to him ; to his aunt, 
the silver fork, marked with his name, 
with which he had always eaten. The 



Nearing the Beautiful City. 131 

many beautiful books and presents, which 
had been given hira, he divided among 
relatives and friends, remembering each 
one with some special sign of constant 
love, not forgetting to leave to White 
and Esau some substantial proofs of his 
thoughtful care for them. 

Eossie quietly planned about his fu- 
neral, mentioned the clothing in which he 
wanted his body dressed for the grave, 
asked that his friends would sit around it 
during the last ceremonies, and particu- 
larly requested that it might be buried 
in some cheerful, pretty place, which 
would be pleasant for his parents to visit. 
His wishes were obeyed, and the worn 
body lies at Swan Point, a beautiful ceme- 
tery in the neighborhood of Providence. 

He often asked to hear his favorite 
hymns, especially this one : — 



132 Little Rossie. 

My God, whose gracious pity I may claim, 

Calling thee Father, — sweet, endearing name ! 
The sufferings of this weak and weary frame, — 
All, all are known to thee. 

From human eye, 'tis better to conceal 

Much that I suffer, much I hourly feel ; 
But oh ! the thought does tranquillize and heal, — 
All, all is known to thee. 

Each secret conflict with indwelling sin, 

Each sickening fear, I ne'er the prize shall win, 
Each pang from irritation, turmoil, din, — 
All, all are known to thee. 

When in the morning unrefreshed I wake, 

Or in the night but little sleep can take, 
This brief appeal submissively I make, — 
All, all is known to thee. 

Nay, all by thee is ordered, chosen, planned, — 
Each drop that fills my daily cup ; thy hand 
Prescribes for ills none else can understand, — 
All, all is known to thee. 

The effectual means to cure what I deplore ; 

In me thy longed-for likeness to restore ; 
Self to dethrone, never to govern more, — 
All, all are known to thee. 

And this continued feebleness, this state, 
Which seems to unnerve and incapacitate, 



Nearing the Beautiful City. 133 

Will work the cure, my hopes and prayers await, — 
That can I leave to thee. 

Nor will the bitter draught distasteful prove, 

When I recall the Son of thy dear love ; 
The cup thou wouldst not, for our sakes remove, 
That cup lie drank for me. 

And welcome, precious, can his Spirit make 

My little drop of suffering for his sake ; 
Father, the cup I drink, the path I take, — 
All, all is known to thee. 

Which, he said, expressed just what his 
heart said to his heavenly Father. 

As Kossie's death approached, he could 
not even be touched without pain. 
During the daily trial of getting him up, 
a friend said to him, u Poor little fellow, 
what a glorious change it will be for you 
to be where you can move about, as you 
choose, and will not have to think of this 
poor suffering little body ! " 

He looked at her with a bright smile, 
and said, a Oh, wont it ! " as if the pros- 



134 Little Rossie. 

pect afforded him unspeakable satis- 
faction. The last Saturday of his life he 
seemed a little better and his father, 
who was feeling his pulse, said to him, 
" Kossie, you are better ; I shouldn't win- 
der if you lived a month." 

a A month, father ! " was the reply in a 
dejected tone, — "a month more of this ! " 
When his father went out, he said, in 
real distress, u How can I stay here 
another month ! What object is there in 
it ? I've finished all my work ; what can 
I do?" 

He was told that if God spared his life, 
he would find something for him to do, 
and would be sure to take care of him, if 
he kept him longer on the earth, when 
he said, reflectively, u Then I cannot be 
thinking of it all the time." 

His friend said to him that he would 



Nearing the Beautiful City. 135 

better not try, and that she should not 
care whether God's messenger found her 
about some household labor, or engaged 
in prayer, if she were doing his will. 

"Well, then," said he,," I mean to act 
as if I were to live till the millennium." 

So the next time he saw his father, he 
said, u Father, I want to take a sleigh- 
ride." 

The roads and the weather were bad, 
and he had been thought too feeble even 
to be taken down-stairs for a long time, 
but his father promised him a sleigh-ride 
on Monday, if he then wished to go. 
Accordingly, on that day he took a short 
ride in a large covered sleigh, his father 
and mother holding him in their arms, so 
that he felt no motion, and he returned 
much delighted with his drive. His 
whole appearance was so deathlike that 



136 Little Rossie. 

a dear friend, who had called just before 
he went out, feared he would never come 
back alive, and remained at the house 
until his return, when he talked cheer- 
fully to her, describing what he had seen 
in his ride. The next day, he sent for 
White and Esau, wishing that they 
should be told how very sick he was, and 
that he could probably never hear them 
read again. They came for the last time, 
White bringing his Testament, and Esau 
receiving one from his young master. 
They read the parable of the Prodigal 
Son, and the twenty-third Psalm. Kos- 
sie listened with attention, occasionally 
making a remark, or correcting a mis- 
take, but was so thoroughly wearied, when 
they had finished, that he could not talk 
to them, as he had wished, but was obliged 
to delegate to another the task of ex- 



Nearing the Beautiful City. 137 

pressing "all that I wanted to say to 
them." 

A letter from an intimate friend 
speaks of him so truly and touchingly, 
that we will not apologize for inserting 
it here. 

"One who most sincerely loved our 
sainted Rossie, and who feels that the 
confidence and love expressed by him to 
her are among her choicest remembran- 
ces, wishes to add her tribute to his mem- 
ory. The story of this short life, so 
crowded with suffering, and yet fulfilling 
so holy a mission, must be a comfort to 
many children, who, like him, are de- 
barred from childish sports, and the free 
motion of their limbs, showing them how 
much may be enjoyed, and how much 
good may be done by a Christian child, 



138 Little Rossie. 

even while suffering most intense bodily 
pain. 

" I can see Eossie now, propped in his 
easy-chair, his chin resting in his hand, 
and though suffering much, interesting 
himself in every subject of conversation 
that came up, and furnishing more origi- 
nal ideas than any of his older listeners, 
saying such quaint and witty things that 
one wondered how old a soul inhabited 
that poor little body. 

"Rossie was scarcely ever idle, and 
many a result of his industry and taste 
remain as reminders of how patiently he 
labored towards any end he had in 
view. 

" He was a true friend, and the spirit 
with which he defended those he loved 
in their absence is something we seldom 
see in one of his years. If he could not 



Nearing the Beautiful City. 139 

understand the motive in anything his 
friends said or did, he would be sure to 
get them to explain it to him, instead of 
remarking upon it to others. He was 
always cordial, and ready to share all his 
delicacies with those who came to see 
him. 

* I shall never forget a conversation I 
had with him on a ride one day, about 
that dear brother whom he was per- 
mitted so soon to meet in heaven. He 
spoke of the different points in his 
brother's experience, in a way which 
showed that he saw clearly the requisites 
of the Christian life, and yet so simple 
and direct that no one could doubt his 
having been taught of Jesus. Rossie had 
no cant about him ; indeed, nothing dis- 
tressed him more than those unnatural 



140 Little Rossie. 

expressions of so-called piety, which we 
often hear. 

" As his sufferings increased, he looked 
forward to his rest, 'with joy and not 
with grief He scarcely ever alluded to 
that part of death which naturally appalls 
us, but seemed most mercifully to have 
been permitted always to see 'beyond 
the river.' He knew in whom he had 
trusted, and he was not afraid. 

'■He said to me the week before he 
died, 'I've had a great disappointment 
to-day. You see I have flattered myself 
with the idea that I should soon be at 
rest; in the morning I would think I 
should go before night, and at night be- 
fore the morning ; but here I linger, lin- 
ger, linger. I asked my father to-day 
how long he thought I could live, and he 
said, a Eossie, you may live a month ; " 



Nearing the Beautiful City. 141 

but you've no idea, how my heart sank 
within me, as he said this.' Now that 
he has reached his heavenly home, can 
we not hear him, in imagination, singing 
to his harp of gold, — 

1 No sin, no grief, no pain, 

Safe in my happy home, 
My fears all fled, my doubts all slain, 

My hour of triumph come ! 
Ah ! friends of my mortal years, 

The trusted and the true, 
You are walking still in that vale of tears, 

But I wait to welcome you.' " 




X. 




THE BEAUTIFUL CITY. 
" Which when I had seen, I wished myself among them." 

HE terror of death had never had 
power over Rossie ; singularly 
brave in the endurance of physical pain, 
and fearless by natural temperament, his 
loving, longing eagerness to meet his 
Saviour would allow no fear. " There'll 
be no dark valley for me," he said ; " there 
was none for Mrs. Swain, you know/' — 
alluding to the wife of his minister, who 
had lately died most happily. " I shall 
go right over the river to see Jesus." 

But, though there was no darkness, 
the way was long ; through many hours 



The Beautiful City. 143 

of a long, heavy snow-storm, the parting 
soul tarried on the threshold of perfect 
life; the stricken group around him 
murmured, u He is going, going/' but the 
response of the ministering angels (we 
almost heard it) was, u Coming, coming." 

While his friends thought him dying, 
he was trying to calm his father, saying, 
" Oh, father, don't, dear father, don't cry ! 
I'm so happy now." His breathing was 
like that of the dying, and he asked, 
* How long can this last ? " Then, as his 
father touched the pulse, " How long can 
it beat ? " 

"About half an hour," was the re- 
ply, " Then you don't think I'll be dis- 
appointed this time ; do you?" 

u No, Eossie, I think you are certainly 
dying." 

He wished for prayer, and when asked 



144 Little Rosste. 

"For what shall I pray?" answered, 
" Lord Jesus, come quickly." 

After a short prayer, he gave some 
final charges, — to his father, " to meet 
him in heaven," to his brother, " to be a 
consistent Christian," something to every 
member of the family ; and then said, 
" Tell Esau he must be a Christian," and, 
" Tell everybody that I love them." 

With the old longing to be remembered, 
he asked where a lately painted picture 
of himself would be placed. His mother 
said, " I suppose you would like to have 
it hung where we can all see it." 

" Yes/' said he, " for I shall always be 
behind it, or," — correcting himself, — 
" beside it." 

He then said, " Mother, you have no 
likeifess of my little brother," — a babe 



The Beautiful City. 145 

who had died before Rossie's birth, " How 
shall I know him ? " 

" He will come and meet you/' was his 
mother's reply. 

" And I will come and meet you when 
any of you come to heaven." 

Contrary to all expectations, he was 
somewhat relieved by restoratives, and 
fell asleep, and when he woke, his enun- 
ciation, till then clear and strong, was 
very imperfect, and he was obliged to 
express himself mostly by gestures. In 
this way, he lingered all through the next 
day, sleeping a little, and rousing occa- 
sionally, but perfectly calm. In the 
night, he asked, by signs, for pencil and 
paper, and a book, on which to write, and 
a little Sunday-school singing-book was 
handed to him. He immediately turned 
to the hymn, u We are waiting by the 
10 



146 Little Rossie. 

river/' and asked to have it read, then 
attempted to sing it, but was unable. Af- 
terwards he commenced writing, u To all 
whom I know." His sight was failing, and 
he asked if this could be read ; then he 
took up his pencil for another effort, but 
merely wrote, " Oh, I'm too sleepy," and 
laid it aside forever. Before the dawn 
he begged to have his parents called, and 
wanted them to sing, " We are waiting 
by the river," then fell into a heavy 
sleep. 

A few moments before he died, his 
father came into his chamber; he held 
out his little hand to him, and said, in 
very tender tones, " I'm here, papa." The 
strong, loving arms lifted him into an 
easier position. Just then the sun broke 
through the heavy clouds of that long, 
dreary storm and filled the room with 






The Beautiful City, 147 

golden light, and the long storm of afflic- 
tions that one little sufferer had endured 
so patiently was over forever : the sun 
of an Eternal Life arose for him, and 
without a struggle, he passed into the 
glory beyond the veil. 
Now we sing his song, — 

We are waiting by the river, 
We are watching on the shore, 

Only waiting for the boatman, 
Soon hell come to bear us o'er. 

Though the mist hang o'er the river, 

And its billows loudly roar, 
Yet we hear the song of angels 

Wafted on the other shore. 

And the bright celestial city, 

We have caught most radiant gleams 

Of its towers like dazzling sunlight, 
With its sweet and peaceful streams, 

He has called for many a loved one ; 

We have seen them leave our side ; 
With our Saviour we shall meet them 

When we too have crossed the tide. 



148 Little Rossie. 

When we've passed that vale of shadows, 
With its dark and chilling tide, 

In that bright and glorious City 
We shall evermore abide. 

Chorus. 
We are waiting by the river, 

We are watching on the shore, 
Only waiting for the boatman, 

Soon he'll come to bear us o'er. 




XI. 

REUNION, 

" We pass from the clasp of mourning friends 
To the arms of the loved and lost, 
And those smiling faces will greet us there, 
Which on earth we have valued most." 



E have followed our little Kossie's 
life — that life of so few years, 
and so much trial and development — as 
far as mortal eyes can see its progress; 
now we turn to cast one glance at another 
life, that, moving from the same point, 
through a very different path, reached 
the goal only a little later. The darling 
brother, who gave so much comfort and 
joy to the wasted invalid, formed a 
thorough contrast to him in personal ap- 



150 Little Rossie. 

pearance. Grosvenor was in perfect 
health, tall and strong, with light hair 
and bright blue eyes, and had the pow- 
erful magnetism of young, earnest life 
about him. He was gentle, and "easy 
to be entreated," singularly simple and 
truthful in nature, — one whom all loved 
and respected, for unaffected beauty 
of character and genuine manliness. It 
was a lesson to many of his elders to 
see the untiring patience, with which he 
cared for his poor brother, using his 
own health and strength to serve every 
caprice of sickness, and always ready to 
yield his plans to brighten that shad- 
owed life. He was nearly four years 
older than Eossie, and when his parents 
stood by the grave of their youngest, 
they could feel that earth had yet much 
for them, as they looked at their noble 



Reunion. 151 

son, who had begun to develop the 
manliness of his fine nature, .according to 
" the power of an endless life/' and stood 
before them ready for vigorous, useful 
work in the world. Grosvenor had chosen 
his father's profession, and was preparing 
to bring his eager enthusiasm to the aid 
of mature experience, when accident sud- 
denly checked his bounding health. 

As he was playing base-ball, in which 
he excelled, and at the time of the Uni- 
versity match between the students of 
Harvard and Brown, he strained his side 
severely, and was obliged to leave the 
game and go home at once. No one 
thought of danger, but it was there ; per- 
haps the sufferer himself felt, more than 
others, that he was badly hurt; but his 
repeated question, " Is my life in danger ? " 
was answered with repeated assurances 



152 Little Rossie. 

that it was not, and he resigned himself 
quietly to the few days of inaction which 
would recruit the strained muscles, and 
enable him to return again to his busy 
student life. After about a fortnight of 
this enforced quiet, with no very great 
suffering, an unexpected change alarmed 
his physicians, and he was told that he 
could live but a short time. He was rap- 
idly growing weaker, and could say but 
little; but that little expressed a calm 
acquiescence in the divine will which cut 
off the strong hopes that had leaped for- 
ward to life's activities, and a firm confi- 
dence in the Lord who doeth all things 
well. In ten hours from the announce-* 
ment of his danger, he died gently and 
easily; and the two brothers, separated 
but for six months, were united again 
forever. 



Reunion. 



iS3 



Their lives had passed through differ- 
ent channels : one had taken a rough 
course, where many rocks lay in the way 
and it was hard to pass ; one had always 
run smoothly, till that final plunge into 
the great ocean of eternity; but both 
reached alike happily and trustingly the 
same goal. 




Cr BORN, APRIL 5, 1852. ^ 

^ DIED, JAN. 18, 1867. 



# 




BORN, AUG. 11, 1848. 
DIED, JULY 12, 1867. 



\ 





THE THREE SONS. 



I have a son, a little son, 

A boy just five years old, 
With eyes of thoughtful earnestness 

And mind of gentle mould : 
They tell me that unusual grace 

In all his ways appears, 
That my child is wise and grave of heart 

Beyond his childish years. 
I cannot say how this may be ; 

I know his face is fair, 
And yet his chiefest comeliness 

Is his sweet and serious air ; 
I know his heart is kind and fond, 

I know he loveth me, 
But loveth yet his mother more, 

With grateful fervency. 
But that which others most admire 

Is the thought that fills his mind, 
The food for grave, inquiring speech 

He everywhere doth find. 
Strange questions doth he ask of me, 



The Three Sons. 155 

When we together walk ; 
He scarcely thinks as children think, 

Or talks as children talk : 
Nor cares he much for childish sports, 

Dotes not on bat or ball, 
But looks on manhood's ways and works, 

And aptly mimics all. 
His little heart is busy still, 

And oftentimes perplexed 
With thoughts about this world of ours, 

And thoughts about the next. 
He kneels at his dear mother's knee, 

She teacheth him to pray, 
And strange and sweet and solemn then 

Are the words which he will say. 
Oh ! should my gentle child be spared 

To manhood's years, like me, 
A holier and a wiser man, 

I trust that he will be ; 
But when I look into his eyes, 

And on his thoughtful brow, 
I dare not think what I should feel, 

If I should lose him now. 

I have a son, a second son, 

A simple child of three. 
I'll not declare, how bright and fair 

His little features be : 
" How silver sweet those tones of his, 



156 . Little Rossie. 

When he prattles on my knee : 
I do not think his bright blue eye 

Is like his brother's keen, 
Nor his brow so full of childish thought, 

As his has ever been ; 
But his little heart's a fountain pure 

Of kind and tender feeling, 
And his every look a gleam of light, 

Rich depths of love revealing : 
When he walks with me, the country folks, 

Who pass us in the street, 
Will shout for joy, and bless my boy, 

He looks so mild and sweet. 
A playfellow is he to all, 

And yet with cheerful tone, 
Will sing his little song of love, 

When left to sport alone. 
His presence is like sunshine, sent 

To gladden home and hearth, 
To comfort us in all our griefs, 

And sweeten all our mirth. 
Should he grow up to riper years, 

God grant his heart may prove 
As sweet a home for heavenly grace 

As now for earthly love ; 
And if, beside his grave, the tears 

Our aching eyes must dim, 
God comfort us for all the love 

That we shall lose in him. 



The Three Sons. 157 

I have a son, a third sweet son ; 

His age I cannot tell, 
For they reckon not by years and months 

Where he has gone to dwell. 
To us, for fourteen anxious months, 

His infant smiles were given, 
And then he bade farewell to earth, 

And went to live in heaven. 
I cannot tell what form is his, 

What look he weareth now, 
Nor guess how bright a glory crowns 

His shining seraph brow ; 
But I know, for God hath told me this, 

That he is now at rest, 
Where other blessed infants be, 

On the Saviour's loving breast. 
Whate'er befalls his brethren twain, 

His bliss can never cease ; 
Their lot may here be grief and pain, 

But his is certain peace. 
It may be that the tempter's wiles, 

Their souls from bliss may sever, 
But, if our own poor faith fail not, 

He must be ours forever. 
When we think of what our darling is 

And what we still must be ; 
When we muse on that world's perfect bliss, 

And this world's misery ; 



158 



Little Rossie. 



When we groan beneath this load of sin, 

And feel this grief and pain, — 
Oh ! we'd rather lose our other two 

Than have him here again. 

Eev. John Moultrie. 



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